


Crawl Out Through the Fallout

by Twisted_Fate_MK2



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Historian, Medieval
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 96,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Fate_MK2/pseuds/Twisted_Fate_MK2
Summary: Take the lawyer we know Nora to be and add a passion for history, and throw her into the wasteland to see what happens. But unlike normal canon, in this world, without the industry to support wide and large scale gun and ammunition supplies, the world is relegated to what they can get. Rare energy weapons, and medieval warfare. Luckily, our character loved medieval history.





	1. Chapter 1

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold

Initiates, Final Heaven, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“I don’t know why you wear your hair like that.” Nate, as always, complained when she came to join him in the kitchen after he’d - finally - been satisfied that his straight as a rail military buzz was acceptable and given it to her, to do the little bit of makeup she needed for work and tie her hair back in a ponytail. “You look so much better with your hair down.”

“Please.” She laughed brightly, giving little Shaun a look in her husband’s arms on the couch, sleeping peacefully. Nate gave her a look and she struck a pose like what she’d seen in his Grognak comics, feigning a swooning maiden and grinning all the while. “I look fabulous no matter what I wear, daaarling!”

“Yeah, you definitely do.” Nate chuckled, laying with his back against the arm of the couch and watching the baby like a hawk when he laughed. “I like the red you put in your hair, by the way. Gives you a bit of an edge, you know what I mean?”

“Thanks, babe. And yeah, I know what you mean.” She quipped, that warm feeling in her stomach whenever he gave her one of those random compliments as she made her way to the fridge for something to eat. “Honestly, I’m surprised the college lets me get away with that but still makes me tie my hair back.”

“Yeah, I know they can be strict, but you look awesome in your school outfit.” Nate grinned as she sat down on one of the stools, smiling at the offered cup of coffee Codsworth laid on the counter for her. “Thanks, Codsworth. Did you remember-”

“Three dollops of cream, four spoons of sugar, and a touch of caramel, Mistress. Your requirements are permanently registered in my central memory unit.” The silver ball cut in, bouncing chipperly in the air as she took the mug and smiled. “And I must say, ma’am, you look splendid.”

She didn’t understand why they just kept complimenting her, really. The only thing she’d done is highlight her black hair with red. And she wasn’t even dressed in anything that showed anything off, either, as difficult as it tended to be to show off her still thin, wiry frame. Though she did still feel a little fat around her waist from the pregnancy, as much as her husband assured her he didn’t mind and that it wasn’t there. Though how he wouldn’t mind something and it also wasn’t present she would never imagine, the man only gave that rogue’s grin when she pointed the contradiction out.

Damn him and that grin…

“Hey Codsworth, could you go see if Shaun’s bed is in a good condition for his nap?” Nate asked as much as ordered, still unsure of how to speak to the servile machine. 

“Of course, Sir!” The machine crowed cheerily as always, spinning its manipulating arm around and buzzing off up the hall. 

“Still not used to having a robot around to give orders to?” She asked, turning on her stool and leaning back against the counter, sipping idly at her coffee as she did. He shrugged and, feeling somewhat childishly malicious for reasons beyond her, she barbed gently, “I’d think an Army boy would be used to giving orders.”

“I was a trooper, babe.” He drawled as he stood, Shaun curling against his muscled, scarred chest as he came towards her. Rolling her eyes, she reached behind her and pulled one of many little plastic straws out of a bag, tossing it into her cup and holding it up for him to sip without worrying about spilling the hot drink on the sleeping baby. “I had, like, two guys under me and mostly parroted orders. And that was weird, too.” 

“Wuss~”

“Suck it~”

“Maybe after you put the baby to bed we can head down the back, lay up next to the little creak.” He snorted and then blinked, checking on the baby to make sure it was still sleeping. She waited too, to see if his snort and the motion from it would disturb the newborn, but when the little guy didn’t make a noise they both relaxed and she sighed. “Ugh, I can’t believe Camridge has me running all the way down to CIT to help with some stupid ‘project’ they won’t even tell me about.”

“Did you ask?”

“Of course I asked. But they said they couldn’t talk about it over the phone. Special project, government mandates, Chinese listeners, the normal drill.” He grimaced but nodded, the both of them knowing well enough what the Chinese posed to the nation in terms of risks and infiltration. “Way it is, I guess…”

“Yeah, I guess.” The man sighed, “Can’t stand the secrecy of it all, but I guess it just can’t be helped.”

“You’d know, Nate. You lived it, after all, at least for a good few years ‘fore you got let out.” She pointed out, nodding her head to the side, where his shiny Anchorage-earned medals sat next to his ceremonial trifold flag. “What do you think about all of this? Any ideas about what’s goin’ on down at Cambridge?”

“If I really, really had to guess?” She nodded, to show that he did have to guess, and the man frowned. Taking a seat on the arm of the couch and turning to look down the hall, he rubbed a thumb along his son’s cheek comfortingly - for the both of them, she knew - and began to talk. “Probably a Vault, or something like it. You might be a lawyer, but you dual-majored in classical history, and besides technology they might be wanting to archive that stuff. Blueprints, information, maybe translating books into digital formats to store more densely somewhere secure…”

“That… Well, that was a more detailed answer than I expected.” She blinked and he shrugged, as though it were all an obvious line of thought. Which, now that she considered it, it kind of was. “Why call for me, though? You signed us up with Vault-Tec yesterday when that guy came by, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, veteran’s benefits apparently, though nobody told me that was something on the table for my service when I signed up.” Or after he was discharged for getting shot, she knew. She’d been there, looked over the paperwork with him and everything. Not a word about Vault reservations. “Kinda weird, that… And the guy, the way he talked, it was like he knew something.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, but he… Implied that the apocalypse that the Vaults would protect us from was coming. And soon.” The statement unnerved the woman to say the least, knowing by proxy from her husband how well grunts like he had been and like the Vault-Tec representative still was could come across information they should never be privy to. “Just has me weirded out.”

“I mean, it’s probably fine. We’ve been fighting back and forth for about a decade now.” She shrugged, grabbing one of the little crescents Codsworth had baked for them that morning and taking a large bite from it. Around the soft, delicate pastry, she added, “I mean, what? Are they just gonna start flinging nukes all willy nilly? Ruin the world over some gas?”

“It’s a lot more than that…”

“Eh, not really.” She shrugged, taking another bite of her crescent and holding it up for him. “Wars were fought over grain first, they say. Did you know that? Wheat fields were probably what caused the first wars.”

“Babe…” Her husband drawled, smiling all the while even as he chided her. “You’re ranting about history again.”

“Yeah, I know, I just-” She was cut off as, at first distantly but then steadily rolling towards them in a cascade of shrill screaming, an alarm began to drone heavily and heartily. The duo stood abruptly and Shaun whined in Nate’s arms, the woman asking quietly, “Are those…?”

“Raid sirens, yeah.” The man nodded as, distantly, the sounds of vertibirds began to fill the air. The man grimaced at the sound and added, more firmly. “Troop transports. Wherever doesn’t get bombed to hell, they’ll be managing people and evacuations…”

“Oh god… Oh god, oh god, this is happening isn’t it? It is...” She felt the panic well up in her chest and clamped it down the unhealthy way she always did, gritting her teeth and standing. “How long do we have?”

“I don’t really-”

“Nate, Guess, god damn it.” She snapped, feeling bad for snapping at him but turning around to grab a bag from the ground she’d normally use for toting books to work. Now, though, she grabbed formula and diapers from under the counter and started piling it into her bag. “You were a soldier, you’d have an idea of time frames, radar detection- I’m a historian as much as a lawyer, I did the late nights to know soldiers can see this kind of stuff coming.”

“Ten minutes, assuming radar picked them up out over the sea and not when they started bombing us. They’re probably hitting the closest coasts first....” He guessed, hearing the tone of her voice and raising his in turn, feeding off her own alarm like a soldier would. “Codsworth! Diapers and baby food in a bag now! No toys, just supplies”

“Yes, Sir!” The chipper robot called back, always bright and cheerful even as it toted out a baby bag of supplies for them to carry off to survive a literal apocalypse. “I would suggest you get going. People are started to head towards the Vault, up on the hill.”

Neither of the two needed any further prodding to get moving, rushing out the door and headed with the crowd. Unlike most of the crowd, though, they were admitted into the Vault. 

Whether that was a good thing, though, she’d debate for years afterwards.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The first time Nora woke up, she was confused, disoriented and cold. It took a moment for her to remember what had happened, from the raid sirens, to her things being stowed by Vault-Tec security while she went in for decontamination. She didn’t remember falling asleep, not really, but it must have taken a while and regardless, it was over now. 

Distantly, she could hear voices approaching her, or more likely walking down the line, and pushed off her seat to see who was coming and get out when the door opened.

Except it… Didn’t open for her, and when she saw the rugged man walk up to her husband’s pod she started to get nervous. 

“This the one?” He asked, loud enough that even through the pod’s heavy hatch she could hear it. Laying a hand on a heavy, silver revolve on his waist when a woman joined him and pulled a lever that he assumed meant ‘yes’ he added a short, irritable grunt of, “Military man, right? What’s the word from on high if he acts out?”

“The infant is what’s important.” The woman answered in a sharp, clipped tone. “If he resists, do as you like, so long as the infant is unharmed and the backup is as well.”

“Mhm. Got it, boss lady.” The way he grinned, almost feral, at the answer unnerved Nora who slammed a fist against her hatch to get their attention. He saw this and smirked, sidling towards her while lights flashed over the other pod, and he leaned in close to get a look at her. “Gotta say, those suits don’t leave anything to the imagination… Why aren’t we takin’ the doll too?”

“Too risky. Infants can’t resist us and draw attention, a full grown woman can. And without the ability to Relay so far out, it has to wait.” The woman answered snappishly as the hatch screeched back and began to lift. The man regarded her again, eyes lingering on her chest longer than she liked until she crossed her arms, and then he shrugged and turned to her as the door eased open. The woman, voice full of warmth, cooed the crying baby almost before the hatch had even opened, “Hey, little guy… It’s okay, Sir, we can take him while you get cleaned up.”

“I-I-I got him.” Nate wasn’t in any better a state than she was, still confused and lethargic. But well enough to know better than to hand off his son to strangers. The woman’s hands landed on the baby, tugging him out of numb fingers, and Nate shouted, “What are you doing? He’s fine!”

“Sir, you need to let him go.” The woman intoned coldly, turning her suited head to the man and grunting. “Kellogg, make him let go.”

“Let the baby go, pal. Last warning you’re gonna get.” The man, Kellogg she knew now, warned as his heavy looking revolver came free and levelled with Nate’s chest. Her fists slammed into her pod lid and the man stepped to the side far enough to get a glance of her, face furious and fists slamming uselessly against metal again, and he chuckled, “Got some fire like your man, doll? Good for you. Won’t help if he doesn’t hand over the kid, though.”

She flipped him off and he chuckled, turning to Nate for his answer.

“I’m not giving you Shaun, you motherfuckers!” Nate snarled, coming alive more and more with each passing second as the chill of the definitely-not-a-decontamination-pod faded away. She knew the look of adrenaline rushing through his veins, and saw him turning to push out of the pod and attack. “Now back off or get fucked, you bald son-of-a-bitch!”

Kellogg knew a threat when he heard it, and could probably see the man’s attack building, even as knackered as Nate no doubt was. She was sore and even moving to pound weakly against the lid was an effort of sore limbs and painful shivers, fuelled by adrenaline and not much else.

“Time’s up.” The man sighed, “Sorry, Doll, but the grave’s been dug and your boytoy didn’t help himself.”

“No!” She shrieked, the sound loud and echoing in her own ears.

The crack of the gunshot was even more so, though, and she could swear she heard her husband’s head slam back against the back of his pod. She certainly felt it, punching right into her gut and aching where she leapt into the lid and her head hit metal, instinct driving her to do something to help him. And that ‘something’ ended up being ‘slam her head against the door and hope it opened’.

And then glower when it didn’t and Kellogg turned to give her a look, face flat and handgun hanging from limp fingers while he watched her.

“Kellogg we need to-”

“Sorry about this, Doll.” The man nodded, sliding his revolver home and giving the man a look. Then he stepped forward and pulled the lever, closing the pod again, and said a simple, “Now you can bury him if ya get out, at least. Get a move on, you quacks.”

“I’ll kill you! I’ll end you!” She shrieked, earning another look, this time with a small smile for her benefit. Seething, she pressed her face against the glass to get as close as feasibly possible to the man, in spite of how cold the metal was or how stupid she knew she looked. “When I write the history book on your life, this chapter will be called ‘that time I made the biggest mistake since the nuclear fucking holocaust’!”

“Keep the fire, Doll.” The man nodded, giving her a small faux-salute as he strode away and the machine chimed a warning about the ‘cryogenic progress’ being restarted. 

Before she faded out, she committed the face to memory.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The second time she woke up, the hatch opened and, having fallen asleep - and seemingly been frozen, she knew what ‘cryogenics’ were - pressed against the lid, she flopped out like a wet fish hacking for air. On shaky legs, she rose and teetered towards the door, not once looking back at Nate’s hatch. She knew he was dead, and until she was ready to bury him she’d leave him be. She needed to try and catch the smiling bastard before worrying about that, though, and save Shaun.

Nate would have wanted that more than her crying over him.

She found nothing aside from giant bugs, an empty Vault, some skeletons and a handful of weapons, holsters and medicine. The bugs wear easily squashed, the weapons were salvageable and the skeletons were… Well, skeletons. There wasn’t much to be said for them and she shut down any emotions they tried to drag up the way only people like her could do, flicking the proverbial switch so she could deal with what mattered. The irony of being a historian while she said it had been and still was obvious, but she didn’t care about whatever stories a bunch of skeletons held.

Outside she found her worst fears realized. Trees with sparse leaves, gnarling vines crawling up them, a pale blue sky filled with puffy clouds that threatened rain. And a blasted landscape stretching out in every direction, dimmer than it had been before and littered by the wrecks of the destruction wrought by the bombs. Houses down in Sanctuary Hills were dilapidated even enough to tell from here, and in some places they were nothing but piles of scrap iron and plates of steel. 

She felt grief at the sheer loss of it all well up in her stomach and nearly drag her to her knees but stamped it down. Switched it off and turned away, looking first for tracks - she was no hunter, but that many people would leave something behind - and then when she found nothing moving on. Headed for home, to see what, if anything, she could find there. 

She’d hoped for a bed and something to eat, if nothing else.

She found no bed, but there was a can of pork-n’-beans waiting that Codsworth found for her after their reunion. Heated up by his flamer, she sat down with an old fork to eat while he relayed what had happened to her.

“After that you and the Master ran off so suddenly and then… Well, I suppose it is obvious. The bombs struck, the blast came, and so it went.” The machine paused the explanation she’d asked for when she got to Sanctuary to regard her, sitting where Nate once had with her knees tucked against her slight chest and har arms hugging them. “Are you alright, Miss Nora?”

“My husband is dead, the world is half-dead at least, and I’m stuck in a skin-tight suit. Oh! And my baby is missing, two hundred years and change are gone, and my house has more holes than house in it.” She regretted the bitter snarking as soon as she’d finished it and pinched her nose to force herself to breathe through her mouth and calm down. “I just… I need to find Shaun, at least. Did you find anything out in the houses?”

“No, ma’am.” The machine reported, eyes bobbing low in a show of sadness. Or a programmed replication of it, she wasn’t sure either way and right now didn’t care much. “I found some bugs but was rid of them fairly quickly. And some clothes, if you wish for something more… Normal.”

“I…” Did she? Did she care, rather? She wasn’t really all that sure she was, not with everything that had happened. But she got what Codsworth was trying to do, at least, and smiled as gently as her aching heart and head would allow at him. “Thank you, but I don’t feel like changing when everyone, their mother, and their cousins can see me wherever I do it in the house.”

“Maybe we should work towards remedying that, somehow,” The machine suggested quietly, gesturing at the holes themselves like it was pointing them out. “With your permission, I can begin looking for ways to cover the holes. Rugs over them, mayhaps.”

“It would help…” It would at least give her some privacy, at the very least. But she had bigger priorities and stood, instead, asking, “Have you gathered supplies from around Sanctuary? Food, water, weapons I guess, since I’m sure I’ll need those with how things are.”

“Never had a need, Mum.” The machine answered, bobbing iits three arms up and down in a ‘shrug’. “If you like, I will see all food, water, and whatever weapons are here gathered up. I will also take the spare pistol you brought in. they’ll all be in the old bathroom, where they’ll be the safest.”

“And me?” She asked, knowing how ridiculous asking her machine for orders was but needing the direction. Something to do, to focus on, to keep her mind off simply losing her mind. “If you’re doing all that, what am I doing?”

“I figured that you would wish to look for young Shaun, and feel that heading into Concord would be the best thing to do for that.” the machine answered simply, “There are quite a few rotten eggs down there of course but, well, I don’t know where else you’re likely to get help from. Someone there is bound to have information for you.”

“What kinds of ‘rotten eggs’?” Just the gist of the saying had her grimacing, caught between imagining they stank and worse things. Along with a comedic vision of a walking, stinking egg at the old Museum of Freedom. 

“The kind you’ll be glad you have that pistol for, really.” the machine explained vaguely enough to be annoying, “I must say, though, it has been some time since I saw a weapon like that in these parts, Mum. Not since about a hundred years past or so, at least. It should give you an edge.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen my pistol around?” She asked, picking it up off the couch but leaving its partner on the arm beside where she’d been sitting. She didn’t like the weight in her hand, but Nate had made sure she could use it, so she felt somewhat wafer with it. “I’d imagine needing it because everyone had guns, in a world like that. Like this I mean, fuck I’m still not used to it…”

She still couldn’t believe raiders were a thing, even as clear as Codsworth had been about explaining who they were and what they did. It made sense looting would start up, but so long after the bombs dropping, she’d hoped it wouldn’t be that bad. The military should have enforced some kind of order…

Assuming any sort of command line still existed, that was. 

“You’ll adapt, Miss Nora.” The machine assured her, seeing the sudden realization on her face as that idea sank in. And the threat behind it, what it would mean to her and everyone else, that the chain of command had broken down. “I’m sure of it. The raiders I told you about won’t stand a chance once you get the hang of things!”

“What kinds of weapons do they use, then? What can I expect?” She asked, turning around and picking up the old leather and nylon holster she’d pilfered from the Vault. It wasn’t much, but the weight on her hip when she holstered it did bring some odd, conflicting comfort even if holding it hadn’t. “All I have is my ten milimeter and about three magazines of ammunition. If someone attacks me down there, I don’t know if I can deal with them.”

It had worked well enough on the giant roaches, but she wasn’t so certain about using it against people. 

“The raiders around here are poorly equipped, even compared to other parts of the Commonwealth. I’ve had a few travelers come and go, and they talk, you understand. The ones that don’t try to scrap me, that is…” She winced at that implication and smiled apologetically at the machine, but he waved his pincer at her to show how little he cared about it. “Oh, it’s nothing, Mum. A little woosh of my flamethrower and they ran off, nothing but a couple dents on my plating to show for it.”

“I’ll try and patch you up later, Codsworth.” She assured him, practicing drawing and leveling the ten millimeter over and over until she started to feel comfortable with it. “But focus. Their equipment?”

“Mostly scrappy, shoddy plated of old metal tied onto themselves. Some have patchy chainmail, others have leather or padded clothing.” She blinked and gave the machine a look and, again as chipper as it could be, the machine quipped, “That’s why you’ll be fine, mum! About a century in, the bullets ran dry. Now, it’s all lasers for the lucky ones that have power to charge the cells, and everyone else has gone positively savage.”

“You mean…?”

“Shields, spears, the like. It’s all rather like your books, really. The history ones you kept on the little shelf over your side-table.” The machine informed her, waving its saw towards the ruined bedroom and its original contents. “A gun like that will let you cut through almost any group of bandits! Or fetch a handsome price, if you prefer. Either way, a big help!” 

“Are my books still there?” She asked, an idea already starting to form in her mind. 

“No, Mum, I found a little shelter nearby and moved them there.” The machine buzzed by and outside with her following behind, then, and pointed at a house down the road. “That one, the back corner. Can’t miss it, mum. Most of the collection survived, a bit dusty mind, but intact enough. Shall I dust it off while you’re away?”

“Do that.” She nodded, turning to give the machine a look. “And add ‘tools’ and whatever can be salvaged to work on producing weapons here to the list of things I want you gathering while I’m gone. Get everything together, neat and ordered as best you can. This house and the one across the street. Okay?”

“Of course, Mistress.” The machine bobbed, “Will that be all?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be all.” She nodded, patting the little gun on her hip and grimacing lightly. 

She’d probably have to kill people out there, in Concord, before anyone gave her any information. A world with ‘raiders’ wasn’t one where she expected to come out clean. But as much as Nate had always called it unhealthy, she was in a unique perspective to deal with something like that. 

But right now, she simply ‘toggled off’ her emotions and turned to leave, calling back, “I’ll be home in a bit. Watch the place for me.”

The machine called its assent, but she wasn’t listening. She was already off, headed to work, to find her baby and delete the bastard that had taken what was hers.

XxX----XxX----XxX

For brief context-

The characters look as they do in vanilla, Nate and Nora that is, and sport the same names. The exception being Nora’s hair, which is a darker brownish black and tinted red. I tried integrating this a few ways into the chapter, but this is just easier, and gives you all a ready reference point. You will also notice tweaks to timeline events and the like, such as the Vault-Tec guy coming the day before the bombs fall.

Hope you enjoyed~

XxX----XxX----XxX


	2. Chapter 2

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Well, that’s a death trap waiting if I’ve ever seen one.” Nora murmured as she reached Sanctuary’s old bridge, and sighed, “I guess you’re falling apart too, eh? 

Half of it long since rotted away and the other rickety and groaning before she stepped on it. Kneeling on the Sanctuary side of the wooden construction, she pressed a nail against the wood and found it firm enough for the most part, but still soft enough to be worried. If she’d been wearing more than her Vault-Tec suit and her holster, she’d have been worried that she was heavy enough to break through the wood. And below it was no-doubt frigid water, quietly likely laden with lingering radiation alongside the old rusted sections of houses, cars and a few rotted hunks of furniture that litter the little creek and, further down, the wider lake as well.

In short, it was a mess, but then again what about Sanctuary and - if Codsworth was to be believed - the world at large wasn’t a mess right now?

Carefully, and knowing that her husband’s murderers had to have crossed this bridge too, she stood and made her way across the bridge. Half-crouched for anxiety, her pistol holstered at her side and crawling on all fours to keep her weight spread out like she was crossing ice, she made her way. When it didn’t do anything more than groan and she’d made it halfway, she stood, edging her feet forward until she was again satisfied and then finally moving on normally. For a moment, she felt silly, but then she chided herself.

It was early winter, falling into the water now could get her sick at best, or from that height injure her at worse. Both could kill her in the end, and would stall her in her mission to find her son. 

Across the bridge was the old, weathered stone and vine covered Minuteman statue. At its feet was something more interesting, and useful, though. A man, missing his head completely but dressed in a sleeveless mail shirt and little else, slumped on his side under the butt of the stone guardian’s rifle. A brown smear of old blood bloomed over where his shoulders would have been if he was sitting up, thin and spider-webbing cracks telling her something had crushed his head hard enough to delete it. A dull green bag lay beside him and inside she found a handful of old, pre-war eating utensils and a wooden bowl. Other than that it was empty, but she laid the old duffle bag aside regardless, glad for it if nothing else.

She had to carry her stuff in something after all. Or was she supposed to just toss clothes and weapons over her shoulder?

Speaking of weapons, and quelling her stomach at it, she leaned over the body to check it for them. Whoever had killed the man had taken his weapons, though, but left him in his clothes and armor. They’d taken his boots, though, and whatever else he’d been wearing when he’d been killed. The mail shirt was thin with a leather belt to cinch it at the waist, and poorly fitted besides, and that told her it had been left because they already had something better. She didn’t, though, and with a murmured apology she set to work tugging the light armor off the body and stood to head towards the water. 

Once she’d rinsed it off and dried it with the man’s ruined cloth tunic, she tugged it on and cinched it tight at her waist with the leather belt and her holster both. It was too long, hanging like a particularly short skirt, but it would help. 

“Unless someone crushes my head, but mail won’t help against that much anyway.” She sighed, pulling the big duffle onto a shoulder and letting it hang across her chest. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but she could modify the bag to fix that later on when she didn’t feel so pressed for time. “No weapons, but I have a gun. And that’s a thing, apparently.”

Standing, she turned and froze, the eyes of a dark grey and black furred dog meeting hers from the edge of the road, almost hidden in a brushy busy. The hound looked healthy, but Codsworth hadn’t told her about how dogs were now, and she’d never been very good with them. But she could use a good dog, really, and while it watched she laid a hand over her pistol and knelt by the body slowly, to make herself less of a threat in its eyes. 

“Hey, boy, hey.” She tried, smiling and keeping a gentle tone as best she could, thumb resting on the release of her holster. “How are you? Out here all by yourself? Or was this guy,” she bobbed her head to the side, at the corpse she’d looted, “your master?”

The dog whined in answer and sat, watching her and licking its lips boredly. But it didn’t growl so even if it didn’t seem relaxed she felt a bit safer and bit her lip. 

“C’mere, boy. Let me get a look at you, I promise I won’t hurt you.” She finally tried, taking her hand off her gun and holding it out, offering her open hand for the dog to sniff. It looked to it and then to her, and she wished she had some meat to offer instead. “I’m out here all alone, too.” She offered, smiling bitterly. “My husband was murdered and my baby stolen away. Could you help me?”

That, weirdly enough, got a reaction from the dog. It huffed, whined and finally snorted before it stood and shuffled towards her. It didn’t stop to sniff her hand, though, like she’d expected. Instead, it walked past it and sat in front of her, leaning up to sniff at her face and giving her a quick lick before blinking long and hard. 

“We, uh, we good, boy?” She asked gently, hesitantly resting a hand on its neck and smiling when it leaned into her touch and panted happily. Scratching his surprisingly soft fur gently, she smiled and stood, “Come on, boy. I’m headed for Concord, to look for my son. You haven’t seen anything, have you?”

Asking an animal that seemed desperate and silly, even to her, but hey. It was a strange dog, and she had no idea what the radiation had done to things out here. It only whined and chortled gently, though, turning and padding past her to get a drink of water from the river. With a small shrug, she waited for him to finish, scratch behind his ear, and then turned to head towards Concord with the happily trotting dog in front of her.

Together, they stepped off the road and onto the old, broken and overgrown service area of a Red Rocket station. The doors were locked, as were the garage door and the grating over the windows. But inside she could see a bed behind what would have been the service counter, and beside that was a safe hanging partially open, which had her intrigued. Safes meant money, and she was more than smart enough to know that money was a necessity in any world. This one could be no exception, and with enough money she might be able to grease palms to find her son.

At the front door she sighed and drew her pistol, leveling it at one of the hinges and gritting her teeth against the ‘bang’ that snapped up her arm. It took two more shots before the door hung inwards and she aimed down at the other hinge, replicating the method. Finally, with it hanging loosely off its hinges, she stepped back and took a deep breath, before charging forward like she’d seen Nate do to breach doors. Her shoulder slammed into the metal paneling of the door and it gave, the woman smiling at that.

Until she realized that she was going with it, and tumbled in a heap on top of it inside the old, dusty gas station. 

“Damn it, that’s harder than it looked when Nate did it.” Though, coughing and pushing herself upright, she reminded herself that he had been a soldier through and through. And taught her this stuff with stuff meant to make it easier, too, using a sort of ‘backyard drill area’ he built one bored weekend. 

Standing, she looked around and sighed at what little she found. Empty shelves covered in dust, old and rusted cans, a box of rat poison and a disassembled toy. Through a door into the garage she saw old and broken down work stations covered as much rust as dust and completely useless without considerable time restoring it. An open tool box with a couple old tools and half a round of duct tape stood out, but she didn’t need it now, if she would at all. The cash register was open, old and partially rotten bills crammed in alongside little metal bottle caps of all things. A little plastic case on a shelf below it was labeled ‘caps’ as well, and when she turned to look past the rickety bed she saw two more in the safe. 

There was a story there, about why bottle caps stood in for currency, but she didn’t have time for it. Or someone to tell it.

“What do you know?” She asked dryly, giving the dog a look where he stood at her side and shaking the little plastic container. “Know anything?” He whined and tilted his head at her and she sighed, “Yeah, didn’t think you would. Even if you did, don’t have time to set up a campfire for the story.”

Instead, she siphoned all the caps from the three into two cases, the second half-full. Those she slid them into her duffle alongside an old Stimpack she found tucked under the bed, and a long boot knife stuck in its sheath. It took some working to get it out, and she found the bottom coated in a film of leather-rot, but the knife itself was fine. Old and worn through time and use, but fine regardless. So she slid it back into the sheath and tucked it in her bag for safe keeping.

‘A good knife was as good as gold’, Nate had made sure she understood that completely and totally.

The back office had a terminal that was more rust than metal, and little else besides, so she headed to the garage for a proper look. The toolbox was ruined, but the tools were in good shape. A handful of screwdrivers, and old, metal-handled ball peen, and the roll of duct-tape she’d spotted alongside another, full one beneath the pile of tools. She moved those to the corner by the door and extracted her bottle cap boxes, setting them in a neat pile that wouldn’t be spotted from outside. She added the knife and stood, before lifting the unhinged door and leaning it against the outer wall to make damn sure anyone coming into the gas station would miss it too.

‘Hide what you had from anyone not wearing your colors’. Another Nate lesson she’d had pushed into her head as the threat of nuclear war became more and more evident. She’d argued but his third rule had drowned her out. ‘Be prepared for anything, and be surprised by nothing’. Adaptability in a word, and something that was easier for her than it would probably be for most, given her unique advantages.

“Come on, boy.” She finally sighed, stepping out into the light and turning for Concord again. “Supplies’ll last here, safe and sound for us to get later.”

The Red Rocket was the last building that wasn’t boarded up, partially collapsed, or generally looked so damaged that going in would be a death sentence. A broken road, ruined buildings only a fool or someone in construction-rigged Power Armor would go into, and nothing else in her way.

“It’s so quiet…” She complained to no one, unnerved by the silence of the whole ordeal. Dog - he needed a name, damn it - whined at her forlorn tone and she smiled, comforted by the sound. “Thanks, boy. That’s just what I-”

The loud, unmistakable thrum of a laser blast warbled through the air and she flinched, instinctively hitting a knee so hard it ached. Dog was beside on her left, crouched low and teeth bared, and she laid a hand on its shoulder on pure instinct. It leaned against her hand and she waited, ten millimeter in her hand and hovering over her thigh, ready to react. Another strange, distorted whump of laser fire sounded, but she couldn’t see anything and rose, looking around. With a low growl, Dog pittered forward and looked back to her, one ear raised and head cocked to the side. 

“Go, boy.” She ordered, nodding, “But don’t get noticed.”

Why she gave such specific orders to a dog, she couldn't be sure. It was unreasonable to expect he would understand her orders, but still she gave them. And still, he barked twice, like he was answering, and ran off. She rose and followed, around one corner and towards an old storefront with sandbags out front and a single body leaned against them dressed in a ragged set of long johns and with a worn round shield made of wood, with a hubcap enforcing the middle, across her chest.

A smoldering hole had burned through and cracked the wood in two. And judging from the woman’s stillness, she had fared no better under the laser battery. A tire-iron lay on the other side of the sandbags, a shoddily made and attached axe-head affixed to it’s head to improvise a weapon. She made a mental note to come back for it, sure of its use as a tool if not a weapon, and moved to kneel behind the sandbags.

Dog huddled behind the sandbag barrier with her and, together, they peeked out over the top to see what they could make out.

A dozen men and women, wearing ragged long johns like the woman, poorly fitted mail like her, or thick, ragged leather armor stood in a loose line. A few had spears with long, jagged blades at the ends of metal rods, others had the same kinds of axe as the one laying next to Nora, and one had an old machete of all things. Most went without helmets, favoring hoods or leather caps instead, and one had a hubcap held on by a strap like a kettle-helmet on. Each had shields, though, and they were raised towards a man on a balcony while another stood in front of them.

“We jus’ want the old lady, Minute Man!” The man called out, pacing in front of the Museum of Freedom. “Don’t make anybody else have to die for one little old granny. We don’t even wanna hurt her! Our chief just wants to talk.”

He wore long chainmail, the sleeves fitted tightly to his arms and held in place by leather vambraces topped by thick, shoddy looking metal sheets. He didn’t wear pants, favoring a plated, sort of Roman-esque skirt made of heavy leather folds. And his legs were guarded by similarly Roman-esque leather greaves, though his ended in boots rather than sandals. He even carried the semi-Roman look, though she was sure it was accidental, on to a hood and black cloak. He also lacked a shield in favor of a massive, heavy looking and randomly spiked maul that he carried across his broad shoulders, and that kind of broke the immersion of the look. 

It was also terrifying to behold, because she knew that it could crush her thin frame without much effort.

“That sounds like trouble.” She murmured, getting a low, growled response from the hound at her side. “What do you think? Are these the raiders Codsworth mentioned?”

Again against logic, especially since the dog hadn’t heard the robot say it himself, Dogmeat’s ears flicked and he yipped twice quietly. T was odd, how intelligent he seemed, and she wasn’t sure what to chalk it up to. Radiation and mutations, maybe? She couldn’t know. What they’d believed and assumed about radiation on this kind of scale had obviously been blown away, considering the state of the world now, so long after the nuclear attacks that had very clearly broken the country.

“I’m not giving anyone in this building to a bunch of tribal raiders!” The black man on the balcony shouted back, catching her attention and hefting some kind of glowing rifle. He made a show of pulling a handle on the side and the glowing intensified, before he shouted, “The door is blocked up and we have a fusion generator in here! You just try and come in after my people, I’ll fry you.”

“Your boys’ll just end up tried in!” The maul wielding man challenged, pacing still and watching the man on the high ground. “I’m just tryin’ to save lives all ‘round. Yours, mine, my boys’ lives, doesn’t matter to me.”

Seizing the moment, Nora slid off to the side and walked, low and fast with Dog at her side, towards an alleyway much closer to the raiders. None noticed her, of course, paying attention to the man with the rifle for obvious reasons. She saw the dark skinned man notice her and waved him off, hoping he’d understand and not draw attention to her as she moved. He seemed to understand, turning back to the raiders below him and laughing as she slid into the alley and pulled her duffle off so it wouldn’t weigh her down or get in the way.

“So what, you’re a gentle, benevolent raider thug?” The white-uniformed man laughed, shaking his head. Laughing still, he waved behind him at the door and went on, “Yeah, and I have a Power Armored company of Brotherhood soldiers behind these doors with heavy lasers and a Deathclaw support unit.”

“Listen here you little wannabe hero.” The raider snapped, leveling his maul at the door in a clear as day threat. “Ain’t nothin’ in there but a wiry lil’ man who won’t last a week with a collar on, a little missy that won’t last half that getting handed around, and your gearhead boy. He might last a while, at least. Can always use more gear-slaves in the Assembly.”

“I knew where you were going with that.” The man argued, speaking in a way that told her he was speaking as much to convince her to help him as to do anything else. “All you bandits do is rape, steal and enslave. Killing people like you is doing the world a service. And hell, anyone would deserve a reward for doing that.”

That part, she was certain, was meant for her. He was offering her a reward for helping him, and she knew exactly what kind of reward she would want. And that made the decision easy enough, especially considering what the man had said about the raiders and the complete lack of any refusal or rebuttal against it.

“That one, boy.” She ordered quietly, tapping a hand to Dog’s shoulder and directing him to the far end of the line and a man wearing long johns and little else. 

Quiet like the predator he was, Dog took off like a bullet, body low and teeth bared. She rose in the same moment Dog leapt in, teeth ripping at the raider’s calf and yanking him low, and her pistol landed on a turning Raider’s back. One of the four shots went wide, but three hit home in the mail-wearing man’s chest and pitched him back. In the same breath the Minute Man’s rifle thrummed loudly and smot the maul-wielding man across the chest, scorching him so badly an arm fell off and the man fell, screaming like a mad animal. 

That left four, once Dog had ripped his target’s throat out, and they panicked quickly. Two more were blasted down by the Minute Man or dragged down by Dog, but the rest dropped their weapons and ran. She followed for a few paces, until they vanished around a corner and the Minute Man sent a chasing lance of red energy, but the two of them left it at that.

“Is that a real gun?” The man called down, pulling the wiry woman's gaze up to him. “You’re not dressed like a Gunner. Where’d you get a gun? And thanks for the help.”

“My Vault, off up that way a little bit.” She answered, gesturing the way she’d come with one hand and holstering the weapon with the other. When he made a face at the word ‘Vault’ she hiked up her mail skirt and turned, showing the blue curve of the material hugging her hips and legs as proof. “You’re welcome for the help, by the way. I’m glad I was here to give it.”

She didn’t mention the hope of a reward, though, hoping that she could endear herself a bit more before asking for money. Or help, for that matter. 

“A Vaulter, huh? Well, good enough shooting, but your fire discipline could use some work.” She didn’t argue that point, knowing that it really could and not wanting to sour relations with the guy who had a laser in his hands. Turning, the man pushed the door behind him open and shouted, “Unblock the door enough for a thin woman to get in, we got ourselves some backup.”

“Can I come in?” She asked after she heard some scraping and the door into the museum cracked open, a woman’s suspicious face filling the crack shortly. When her eyes narrowed Nora sighed and added an impatient, “Before any more of those raiders show up, preferable. I don’t like being out in the open.” 

“Fine, but I’m watching you.” Nora nodded and, sucking in a breath, squeezed herself through the gap provided. Once inside, she was met by eight tired faces, two dressed in similar long coats as the man upstairs and holding darkened laser rifles like his. 

Smiling and seeing their anxiety, she nodded her head while Dog slipped in and found a spot to sit, “Hey, uh, you all. My name’s Nora, and-”

“Save the sales pitch.” The woman, clearly some kind of asian and standing with her arms crossed, snapped. Her eyes narrowed on her, looked her up and down, and she jerked her head back and up. “Talk to Preston, not to us. And hurry up, before more of those bastards show up.”

The woman stalked off, sitting beside a man who had his head between his knees, and she turned an eye on one of the two she had to guess Minutemen. He was older, with a grey beard and mostly bald head, but he smiled and nodded his head towards the stairs, “She’s just upset. Preston’ll explain how we get outta this mess and then we’ll head off, and you can get the full story.”

Nodding, and stuck on this course now she’d literally shot the other course, she nodded and started making her way up the building. 

The old Museum of Freedom had fared no better than the surrounding buildings, even with its better structure. Parts of the roof had fallen throughout, and in one section an entire portion had fallen in a great slop that had crushed a number of rooms. Portions of railing had fallen suit, long since rotted away, and a portion of the roof had taken the floor at the bottom of the stairs out in a slop that led to a Fusion Core generator, its heavy metal door laying against the inside of the fencing alongside its heavy hinges.

But everything, she noticed, was bare. The Fusion Core had been taken and a tool cabinet opened, alongside every other set of drawers, cabinet and the like all the way up to the top floor. Why, she soon discovered, a barrel with straps like a backpack set to the side of the door into the final room and full of duct-tape, bottles, and other bits of detritus and tools, alongside old tins of food and some old, patriotic themed clothing.

“You picked a hell of a time to show up, and packing heat too? Someone up there must like us.” The man was dressed like a colonial soldier, albeit with a curved rapier dated to the same sort of theme on his hip. He was also smiling and tired looking, offering her a hand, “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman. And if you’re up for it, I have a plan to get us out of this mess.”

Smiling slightly, she took his hand and shook it, “I’ll help you but after that, I have some questions.”

“Lady, you get us out of this, and you can ask anything you want.” The man smiled and she returned it, knowing and looking forward to making use of that promise soon enough.

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Nick :

Hope you enjoy it!


	3. Something Big and Angry

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“We scraped as much rust off as we could while Preston and the others held the raiders off.” The stocky mechanic explained as he worked, slotting one of the heavy, rust-laden shoulders of the old Power Armor suit into place. She felt the weight settle and lock into place and rolled her arms, the metal scraping gently as she forced too old servos to grind and heave. “Without real tools, access to water, scrap metal, power… Well, I can’t do much better than this, sorry to say.”

“It’ll do, though.” She murmured, voice distorted and tinny as it came out through the helmet’s speakers. Nervous, she asked, “It will, right?”

“Against anyone but the Gunners or a Behemoth?” Sturges didn’t elaborate on what a ‘Behemoth’ was, and moved on before she could ask. “Raiders in even good armor won’t compare unless, you know, they have better Power Armor frames than us. But the Assembly only has a couple Power Armor frames that work, and they won’t send one up here for a small group like this.”

“Why not?”

“Charging a core takes about a day even with Corvega’s old, solid fusion generators.” Sturges shrugged simply, stepping around in front of her and wiping away the dust on her visor with a small, almost loving smile. Stepping back and giving her a once over he nodded and pitched the old rag onto the weathered desk in the back corner. “Half the power for the frame would be gone just getting here. Not to mention a fight? Not a chance, for what little we have.”

She hadn’t grown up in this world, but the concept of a ‘raider’ wasn’t a new one. Raiders, bandits, armies of looters in the ancient world, they were all the same. And they didn’t fight, or raid in this case, unless it was worthwhile. A fight where half of them died and they came away with less loot than they started wouldn’t be something they would want.

“I don’t know how to fight in this, though, Sturges.” She pointed out instead of dwelling on it, turning a gaze on her pistol on the desk. “And I don’t want to risk crushing the gun trying to grip it.”

“Then it’s a good thing we got this for you, huh?” He held up the axe she’d seen earlier, beside the woman’s body, and she took it in her oversized metal hands. 

Like this, she couldn’t even feel the weight of the weapon she was holding. For a moment the thought of a tool that killed without her even feeling something was wrong. Killing, Nate had told her, should always be something you could feel happening. It was why he favored ballistic weapons in the service, and had trained her in their use instead of the less tactile energy weapons. 

As always, she turned that emotion off and turned her eyes back on Sturges, helmet heavy on her head as it turned.

“It’ll work.” Even if the edge didn’t cut, she knew from Nate’s stories how powerful a blow from a Power Armor wearer could be. A simple punch could send a man flying, or a small car even, with concrete shattering force. “Make sure nothing happens to my gun or Dog. Okay?”

“I’ll keep an eye on them both for you.” The man nodded, smiling, “Take is a a Tinker’s promise.”

“A Tinker?”

“Ah, yeah, vaulter. Forgot. Sorry.” With a sigh the self-titled ‘Tinker’ began to pile his tools and rags bag into his cover-alls while he talked. His voice was low and, somehow, she thought he sounded sad for a reason she couldn't place.properly. “Tinkers are a word for people like me. Engineers, blacksmiths, carpenters, toolmakers, any advanced kinda stuff in there is a Tinker thing. And Wasteland Code is if you’re a Tinker and you make a promise, you keep it.”

“Wasteland Code?” She asked, looking to her hip for a place to hang her axe and frowning when she found none. Holding it instead, she asked, “What’s that?”

“Unwritten law of the Wasteland here in the old Commonwealth. Everyon, from Gunner to slaver and Raider all the way back to city guards and even Minutemen, we all respect the Wasteland Code” Sturges answered simply, smiling more honestly at the answer. Like the answer was something that made him feel better about everything around himself, somehow. “Simple laws, for the most part. If Super Mutants, monsters like Deathclaws or Radscorpions or whatever show up, everyone puts their problems aside and fights. No fights during Radstorms, either, and no one is tolerated if they sell out the Wasteland to outsiders.”

“Outsiders?”

“Rumor has it there’s a force out towards old Arizona called ‘the Legion’ that likes to conquer and enslave. Old Roman types, apparently, like something out of the history books. I, uh, dunno much about it, but you get the example.” Sturges answered, making an example for her before answering, “If they ever come knocking, Wasteland Code says we stand together.”

“Has it ever been challenged?” She asked, earning a quiet hum of curiosity from the packing Tinker. “Your Commonwealth Wasteland Code.

“Only once, about fifteen years ago when-”

“Is she ready, Sturges?” Preston demanded hotly as he slammed through the door and out onto the somewhat sheltered area, eyes wide with panice but jaw set and rifle humming powerfully. Seeing her turn heavily toward him he nodded and sighed, “Stanley and Prince were out on watch and saw more Raiders coming. A couple dozen, in decent armor and with some ranged weapons, coming up from Corvega way.”

“They’re sure?”

“A couple of them shot Prince down when the two tried to run back.” Preston answered grimly, shaking his head and sighing, “They wanted to get a couple pot shots in at their leader, try and rattle them before they got here.”

“That wasn’t wise…”

“Yeah, well, one of them is dead so I think the message got through on that particular lesson.” The man snapped, grimacing in self-reprisal as soon as he had finished speaking. Reproachful sounding, he sighed and spoke again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, I just-”

“It’s fine, Preston. I was being a bitch. I can get like that when I… I can get like that sometimes.” She shrugged, heavy shoulder groaning with the motion and the effort behind it. Changing the subject before he could ask what she’d meant to say, she moved on quickly, “When are they going to-”

“Hear and understand, Minutemen! I am Crank, a leader of the Assembly, and I’m here for blood!” A voice suddenly boomed out, outside and below, muted somewhat for the walls between them but still carrying easily. A testament to either a big mouth or a well trained commander, and she couldn’t tell which from here. “Your men killed mine and refused parley!”

“We refused to give up one of our own!” Preston bellowed back, giving her a look and a grim nod. She returned it and he sighed, offering her a small, sad smile and then, in contradiction to it, bellowing back, “And now you’ve got another fight on your hands unless you leave!”

“Charge out and drop, the armor will take the landing shocks easily at this height.” Sturges told her rapidly, walking beside her until they reached the old, ruined Vertibird that partially sealed in the room on the one side. Urgent sounding, he rushed on, “Make a good impression, nice and loud and scary, and they might back down. Not a sure thing, but hey, can’t hurt.”

“Hm. Intimidation tactics have been a thing throughout all of history for a reason, after all.” He gave her a look and she shrugged again, “Rambling. Don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, nerves before a fight, I got it.” He nodded, patting a hand on her arm gently to assuage the fear he assumed she was feeling. “Preston always says nerves are normal. Hell, even he gets ‘em, so don’t feel too bad about-”

“I’m prepared with a suit of Power Armor and have marksmen in a superior position.” She cut in simply, shrugging yet again as though to dismiss his worry over her feeling fear. “I’m not afraid. But thanks for the sympathy.”

“Uh, yeah, don’t mention-”

“They’ve got axes for the door!” Preston called from the landing, along with the thrum and crack of his laser musket and a woman’s cry of pain. The sound was followed by an order to fire and the tinkling of metal hitting brickwork and bouncing off weakly. “Vaulter, get down there before they break through! I’ll keep fire on their crossbowmen!”

She made a note of that and crouched low, hefting a ruined, rusted lump of metal that had once upon a time been the Vertibird’s door gun. Completely useless now, with some of the barrels rusted and worn through so badly as to have fallen off, she did manage to think of one last use for the old weapon. Holding it on a hip she loped forward and leapt over the edge of the roof and up, high into the air. Rather than aim it, she simply let the hunk of metal go in the vague direction of the crossbowmen behind the mediocre cover that the pile of old, rusted cars across the road from the Museum offered.

She and the rusted hunk hit at the same time, though one landed with more screams and screeching metal than the other. Rising from her kneeling position she turned to the Raiders, her pillaged axe held in one hand and other held up defensively like a shield. Eighteen at the door, sliding their axes into their leather belts and turning towards her with long spears, made of solid metal and ending in clean looking heads like arrows that contrasted starkly with the ragged heads those from before had used.

Their armor was better and more standard than the others had been as well, with long mail sleeves and thick, studded belts and forearm guards.Their mail skirts hung loose to their knees and heavy, leather shin-guards covered their feet and ended in boots. Smooth and rounded helmets protected their heads as well, faces open like a cross between an unadorned Greek helmet and a Gallic one. Their shields were newer looking too, made of wood and capped in the middle by a polished hubcap, each emblazoned with the iconography of a silver gear inside the black rubber of a wheel.

These looked like mean killing machines, and acted like it as well, half moving away and pressing their shield-rims against each other in a shield and spear formation. 

A loud hum and crack echoed and a man screamed, the woman turning to the crossbowmen in time to feel a quartet of bolts slam into her chest. None pierced, but she felt it, and saw the man who’d died in that volley falling as the line of spears and shields advanced and forced her away, towards the old church. Metal tips bobbed and thrust towards her face and, on instinct, she backed away, swinging her little hatchet between them in a desperate bid to keep them at bay.

Twin lances of crackling energy slammed into the line suddenly, tossing smoking bodied into the ground with the force of a hammer blow and she looked up, meeting Preston’s gaze, “Your armor will protect you! Don’t let them prod you back or- Damn!”

A fistful of bolts sent him scattering back to the other side of the door, but she’d gotten the message. And, taking a breath, she lumbered forward into the spear wall. The enemy soldiers backed away at her advance, thrusting into the padding and at her armored head and throat, seeking whatever weaknesses they could manage to find. She ignored the attacks, though, forcing her head down to protect her more vulnerable throat and bringing her axe sweeping along in front of her. 

The metal rods didn’t break, but they were forced aside and she stepped forward, bringing her fist down on an armored man hard enough that his shoulder was crushed halfway to his waist. Soundless and already dead, the man slumped and fell back, and the spear line broke. Now they surrounded her, seventeen strong and thrusting at her from every side. Stepping forward, she brought her axe down and splintered another man’s shield and arm, but as he fell back another stepped in.

“Ha!” One jeered as her spear bit into the side of her armor’s knee joint and the suit whined in protest, leg stiffening. Another rushed to join her, but a crack and thrum of red light ripped the chest of the first apart and the second stumbled away as Nora turned. Her great, metal fist was the last thing he saw, caving in his face under his helmet and pitching him across the street, where he hit the wall of the Museum and gave it a nice, fresh red paint job.

“Oh, that’s right.” She blinked, turning and smiling under her helmet, “I’m a lot stronger in this suit.”

Testament to that was a woman who Nora backhanded across the side, shield caught uselessly between them. The barrier cracked and she soared, across main street and into the line of cowering ranged supporters. One was struck head-on and slumped under the weight, either dead or unconscious, but her vision was obscured before she could see well enough to guess. Staggering away, she reached up to straighten her helmet with her free hand and batted aside the spear with her other, lashing out with the axehead and forcing them back. 

Something hard suddenly punched in through the lining of her armor’s stomach and jabbed against her gut and she cried out. Staggering away she turned, raising her axe and bringing it down heavily as she went. The blow bit only air, though, and she staggered for it, off balance and moving sluggishly. Hard rods punched into her back and the backs of her legs, forcing her away from the Museum and trying to press her down, make her kneel.

Instead, something caught her eye and she charged, shoulder down, into those in front of her. Two were thrown aside with surprised, one left and one right, and she didn’t see what happened to them. She turned as she reached her destination and hurled the axe, using force more than anything to crush into another raider’s chest and send them hacking and wheezing back, collapsing and clutching at their wounds.

Now, she hefted the fallen raider boss’ maul in both hands and grinned behind her visor, able to feel this weight. The spearmen hesitated and another thrum and crack echoed loudly up the street as two of the crossbowmen were thrown back, each clutching broken, burning arms and crying out. Two spearmen, braver than most, tried to circle her again but she stepped to the side and brought her pilfered hammer up and down, crushing the man and the concrete beneath it in one great, mighty blow. Turning on her heel she pivoted, swinging the hammer by its own momentum like she’d seen Olympic competitors do, and crushing another two spearmen aside with enough force they cracked the stone of the buildings they hit.

“That’s what, ten dead counting crossbowmen?” She asked, voice shaky and ragged as she fought to breathe and bring the hammer back under her own power. The spearmen hesitated for a moment and turned their heads, registering the truth of their statement, and she smiled. “Come on, then. Bring your worst, Raiders. There’s nothing out here the Minutemen and I can’t take on.”

As if in answer, a loud, heavy and fral roar split the air before a large metal grate sailed past her and crushed four Raiders against the Museum’s side.

“What the-” She turned and looked up the road for the source, before she felt her blood chill and her heart pound. 

At least half a man taller than her and with a head as large as she was, a massive lizard lumbered down the street. It's great claws dipped low and, as effortlessly as she would cut butter, carved through ancient asphalt. A car half in the road was in it’s way enough it cared, and an almighty sweep of its arm sent it flipping over and into a building’s side, crushing ancient wood, steel and stone easily. 

Scarcely ten feet away it stopped, stood to its full height of what looked nearly fifteen feet, and spread its arms wide in a challenge. Then, it roared, the sound so heady and louder that her ears rang and she could swear her armor trembled. She staggered away from it and, miraculously though she didn’t fully register it, the spears behind her parted. 

“Deathclaw… Fuckin’ hell, there’s a Deathclaw here?” One, the leader judging from the skull painted on his helmet - the only signifier she’d seen yet of any form of rank - as she staggered away and the spears followed. 

“W-Wasteland Code.” She choked as she turned, meeting the man’s gaze through her visor and finally, truly afraid. “I call on the Wasteland Code, Crank.”

“Wasteland Code.” The man nodded, grimacing and bellowing out, “Wasteland Code! For the Assembly, for a wall of spines!”

The man took the center personally, just past the line but only one rank deep. Two crossbowmen stood in front of her while she watched, shaking but holding. For a moment, that was all there was. A line of men and women with spears in their hands holding a loose, thin defensive formation with little to no support. Just her in her tatty Power Armor she didn’t know how to use, with a hammer she didn’t properly know how to wield, staring up past the men at the looming Deathclaw that she didn’t know how to kill.

Then, the same telltale thrum and crack split the air, as two Laser Muskets lanced red death into the beast’s hide. Flesh seared and smoked and the Deathclaw roared, covering its wounded chest where the energy had struck and then snarling. Like lightning made flesh, it lanced forward, headlong and with its horns down and arms spread into the spear line.

It broke instantly, in a way that told her it was on purpose, raiders leaping aside to avoid claws and horns alike. Two failed, split in half with flicks of twin wrists, like it was nothing to cleave an armored man in half. It slammed into her like a wall of bricks, pitching her aside easily and sending her into and through the ruined front of an old hardware store. She landed with a cry of pain, her weapon left behind, and tried to force herself up past the machine’s weight.

With heavy thuds she felt in her bones, the Deathclaw loomed over head, reaching down and gripping her by her legs. Using them as grips, it turned and hurled her away, across the street and into another building. This time she landed upright, though she slumped in the depression her girth had made, and the creature rounded on her again. Head lowered, it made like a bull to charge her, and took one long stride towards her for the purpose.

The commander from earlier was between them suddenly, shield gone and spear held in both hands. The point bit into its shoulder and pierced, protruding from the other side before the beast reared and turned away. A backhanded swipe caught him across the chest and face and sent him sailing, blood flying in a long arc that painted the road and Nora’s own armor, and silent as the grave. 

Dead, he crunched into a wall and fell, limp and body twisted unnaturally. 

Twin thrums of energy lanced into its side and spearmen charged, ten long shafts thrusting at its thick, leathery side. Not one pierced, and two fighters died when it spun and crushed them with its tail, but they bought her a moment.

Crying out for the pain of a broken rib or four, she forced herself upright as the spearmen circled to the opposite side of the street. A brave man thrust, lost his spear to a defensive swipe and drew his axe in one smooth motion. With a battlecry, he charged the monster and it reared, jaws clamping shut from his right shoulder to his left hip and crunching through bone and metal. It turned with a snarl, carrying the body with it, and shook its great head to dislodge the mail from its teeth.

And she saw a moment she couldn’t risk passing up, when the creature’s head dipped low with its efforts to free itself.

Faster than she had thought possible, she lumbered forward and leapt, aiming for its neck. Her armored arms closed around it and the creature bellowed, standing and lifting her with it. She dangled, one hand gripping a horn and other holding onto the man trapped in its jaws, screaming her terror into its wide, feral eyes. It’s off hand lashed up, punching into her armored side, and she felt the tips of its claws tickle her ribs before receding, pulling back and down for another thrust.

It never got the chance, though, as she released the man’s body and her weight wrenched its head up by the horn. A sickening crack echoed at the sudden force and the creature stiffened, and then fell limp. Her legs hit the ground and gave out, the woman falling on her back with a broken segment of horn in hand.

And, head twisted fully upside down with the unfortunate man’s body still in it, the Deathclaw followed. Thankfully not on top of her, it thundered to the ground and lay still, belly towards her and back towards the Raiders. With a dull hum her armor died and she was left trapped there, unable to rise as the silence stretched around them.

Then, the Raiders filled her vision, standing over her in a circle, and she swallowed anxiously.

“Uh…” She swallowed through a dry throat and wince, every inch of her aching, and asked, “W-Wasteland Code? R-Right, guys?”

As one, they cheered and knelt, a dozen hands with the crossbowmen’s help pulling her to her feet. Once she was upright, she felt hands working at the releases to the armor and, after a moment, the sudden rush of cold air. Hands caught her as she fell and she cried out in pain, Raiders and Minutemen both, along with Sturges, helping her lay on the ground as gently as they could. 

“‘Ere you go, Lass.” One Raider rumbled, holding a pouch over her mouth and smiling a broken, yellow smile. She grimaced and met his eyes and he smiled gently, “Is just some numbin’ powder for yer ribs. The Code means we gotta help ya, after a stunt like that.”

“It’s fine.” Preston assured her when, face pinched in pain, she turned to look at him. Kneeling, the dark skinned man took the pouch and produced a canteen of water for her, smiling gently, “It’s just some medicinal powders made from herbs. With the Stimpacks you left inside, you’ll feel better when you wake up. Trust us?”

Nodding, she let the Raiders lift her head and took the bitter, grainy medicine. No sooner had it gone down, washed down along with some cool, fresh water, she began to feel woozy. Preston tried to say something, try to reassure her probably knowing him, but she felt her eyes close and her body numb. 

And then, finally, she was unconscious entirely.

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Artekha :

Glad you like it~!

Ascended Humanity :

Pipe weaponry actually existed in real life. The mob liked to use them, on occasion, since pipes and some wood were easier to get together than having to smuggle full firearms. As long as you used a decent pipe, they worked well enough. 

But yeah, as seen here, most people favor axes that double as tools or polearms. Spears were and are the best melee weapon for all classes, after all, given the simplicity and range. I have plenty in mind for this, fret not, and I hope you enjoy~!

Green the Ryno :

Yea, a hauberk proper would be decently heavy. And when she speaks of armor and its weight, she bears in mind the weight and form of the classical armor. She’s a historian, so when she speaks she speaks in context. And yeah, the belt was something I added on after seeing a Shadiversity video on armor.

Nick (Guest) :

Hope you liked it~!

Party Pat (Guest) :

I won’t respond to much to avoid spoilers, buuuuut… Da Supies are da best orcses in da Wasteland! XD

I’m aware of the chemical possibilities you mention, such as ethanol, and while some will make a showing others won’t. Two centuries out, knowledge of chemistry on our level would understandably be rarer. So not all will show up in all cases. Flintlocks, for instance, won’t largely be a thing since energy cells can be recharged for cheaper and inflict comparable if not better damage for the effort. This is why the Minutemen wield Laser Muskets still.

I hope you enjoy, though~!


	4. Waking Up

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If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Brr- Ack, son of a bitch!” Her shiver on waking up quickly snapped to a snarl of pain, the woman rolling over on the threadbare mat she’d been laid on. “M-Motherfucker, what hit me?

Rolling onto the side not throbbing in pain, she pressed a hand against it and sucked in a breath, rolling over and pushing herself up on her arms and legs to catch her breath. The throb died into a dull, distant twinge fast enough and, inside a couple long seconds, she could breathe again with only a lance of pain running up her side. Nothing she couldn’t handle, at least if she could find something to distract herself with.

And a good way to avoid remembering her decision to hug a twelve foot tall lizard…

Forcing herself up, she was surprised by two very distinct things, aside from the very obvious fact that someone had taken her Pip-Boy. 

The first was that her legs and arms didn’t hurt anymore, beyond the kind of stiffness that came from sleeping on the floor and the tight bandages wrapped around her left arm that somewhat explained the lack of her Pip-Boy. It didn’t help settle her paranoia at all, though, unfortunately. Her ribs were tight, though, and ached fiercely in a way that told her she wasn’t entirely whole yet, so she was under no illusions about a miraculous recovery. A step and her vision became wavy and indistinct, until she leaned against the frigid wall beside her and let her head settle, so she chalked up the fading echoes of a concussion to her unmended wounds.

The second thing she noticed was where she was, inside what looked like… A shack, of some kind. And one that seemed to have been hastily constructed on the spot, by people more adept at ‘good enough’ rather than ‘good quality’, or were short on time, supplies or both. A closer inspect confirmed the hastily constructed angle, white and blue flecks still lingering on the semi-square, damaged chunks of metal. Paneling and wreckage she was familiar with from her first time waking up since she found herself in this fresh new hell. The door was similarly a salvaged one from one of the Sanctuary houses, old and with its paint long since worn off to leave rusted steel behind.

Pushing off the wall, she took one step across the dirt floor towards it before the door swung open slowly, Preston blinking owlishly when he saw her standing. Quietly, he asked, “Oh, you’re up finally?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, looking to the steaming bowl in his hands and licking dry lips she was suddenly very aware of, “That… That isn’t for me, is it?”

“Yeah, feeding you was easiest with soup, and all we have is… Soup. So… Hold on for just a couple minutes, will you?” She nodded and he dipped down, setting the little wooden bowl on the floor and vanishing back out the door. He was back inside a couple minutes, an old wooden dining chair held in one arm and another bowl in his other hand, and he smiled, setting the chair down and handing her the fresher, steaming bowl, “I figured we could eat and I could catch you up on stuff.”

“Sure.” She nodded, accepting the wooden bowl and spoon when he offered it to her. The soup, when she looked, was a mix of beans, floating hunks of meat and thick, somehow nutty smelling broth. She lifted one of the hunks of meat in the wooden spoon and asked, “What’s this meat?”

“Deathclaw and radroach mixed in with Silt Beans and a liiiittle bit of Mutfruit, for some sweetness and extra bulk and broth.” He answered, explaining the entire dish instead of explaining the one small bit she’d asked about. Probably since ‘Radroach’ had been part of that answer, and was not appetizing sounding. “We set the pot up and have been feeding hunks of meat and foraged, well, forage into the stew for the last week or so. Food’s good, though, even if Deathclaw is all kinds of tough.”

“Hm.” 

“And when you’re hungry enough, taste doesn’t matter as much. And after a week of rest and dealin’ with that Deathclaw, I’m sure you’re starved.” Preston added, jabbing his spoon at her bowl and nodding to it with a small smirk. Taking a bite “Plus, you gotta eat, and that’s chock full’a the nutrients you want in you while you’re healing up.”

“I guess, yeah.” She took a bite and, to her surprise, it actually wasn’t that bad. Sweat and meaty, and the broth was thick enough to almost compare to syrup. Chewing on the tender but stringy hunk of meat she’d found on her first scoop she asked, “You said it’s been a week already?”

“Yeah. Medicine the raiders gave you is a sleeping one, keeps you out of it so you’ll be easier to treat and get patched up. They call it Sleeping Powder.” She grimaced in spite of her intellectual understanding of the applications of such a product, and Preston must have guessed at why. “I know it feels weird trustin’ Raider-made drugs, but the tribes are honest, if not good, people. The Assembly especially honors Wasteland Code, they wouldn’t hurt you after it was invoked.”

“Makes sense.” Or so she guessed, at least. Taking another bite and letting out a contented breath as the hot food fought off the cold air, she rambled idly, “Historically speaking, it’s not without precedent for informal rules like those to be enforced by even opposing groups. Especially when not doing so would cause them more harm than benefit.”

“A tribe that breaks the Code would end up getting smashed by other tribes, or not helped by them when someone like us shows up to respond, so there’s that.” Preston nodded, snorting a grim kind of amusement and adding, through a small bite of food and a dark grin, “Can’t tell you the number of mercenary groups, gangs, or new chieftains that tried it. Never goes well, let me tell you. From without or within, someone puts a stop to them breaking the rules. Or breathing. Or both. Both is usually good.”

“Yeah…” She paused to sip at the broth and sighed at how it soothed her throat, “This is really good for having roach meat in it.”

“Less roach, more Deathclaw, and mixed with stronger tastes to mask it a little more. Cook it ‘til the roach dissolves for raw protein broth and then add the rest, and you got yourself a nutritious meal without the nasty taste.” Preston smiled, taking a huge hunk of meat and popping it into his mouth with a smile. Swallowing it with a contented grunt, he explained, “In the Minutemen, every unit had a few foragers and cooks among their roster. Makes a march easier on the men and on supplies if soldiers can gather supplies as they move, and cook them to be satisfying.”

“Provision at march.” She nodded, conscious of her coping mechanism kicking in and pushing her into historical analogy to ignore… Anything else she could be feeling, frankly, in the moment. “Historically useful, in times where logistical frameworks are too slow to adequately supply a fighting force.” She gave him a meaningful look and added, “You can start answering the questions I have with how the Minutemen fight and govern, since I’m more or less committed to your side of things and probably need to know.”

It wasn’t quite where she wanted to start on things but, frankly, it was the one most likely to decide if she’d survive to learn the rest or not. 

“I guess you are, yeah. Assembly will get the word around ‘bout you and if you go your own way, they’ll think you’re a Minute Man whether you want it or not.” And Preston’s little smile told her how very, very little that bothered him. He seemed to know she’d noticed, too, and didn’t care about that either judging from the little chuckle. “Just the way the cookie crumbles, that. Nothing we can do about it, and everyone in the Wastelands needs some kind of friends to stay alive.”

“What kind of friends are the Minutemen, then?”

“The best of the best kind of friends you could want… When they’re functioning properly.” Her dissatisfaction at that answer must have shown through because it earned a sigh from him, and a frown he hid in a drink of the thick, warm broth in his bowl. “The Minutemen are a military organization, mainly. We only enforce a few laws, though, and mostly the ‘don’t murder and rape’ kinds of obvious ones. We don’t tax much, either, just ask for enough food, water and caps to pay some meagre wages for the standing forces, beds to bunk in from time to time, and places to charge our ‘Cells. And we levy militias to bolster our numbers in the case of a settlement being attacked, not that that shouldn’t just be expected.”

“So you’re… A mercenary body that backs up local governments?” It didn’t sound perfect even to her ears as a descriptor, so she explained, “You don’t enforce the law, typically, so you must bow to local councils and officials. But you draw on local populations for supplies, places to sleep, and manpower. Isn’t that payment?”

“I… Guess. In a manner of speaking, at least.” Preston sighed at the comparison, though, and she sensed something underlying his frustration at the comparison. “Regardless, I’m not an officer, or anything like that. Not beyond unit-command, at least. I don’t know much beyond how we fight.”

“And how is that?” She asked, “And how do I get in contact with an officer to get my questions answered?”

“We fight using simple line combat. Spears in front made up of militia and whoever we happen to have on hand willing to do it, and marksmen like me behind. They hold, we pick off their leadership and eventually, one side breaks. Usually not ours, with the damage our Laser Muskets can do.” He answered with a smile, before taking a deep breath and frowning, “As for your second question… Well, you can’t.”

“I can’t?”

“No, there’s…” The man grimaced and met her eyes, jaw set and eyes hard like granite. A look she recognized from Nate, of all people, with a twinge of pained recognition. The eyes of a soldier’s certainty and commitment to doing what he had to. “There’s no other Minutemen outside this base that I know of. No one on any communication lines we had established, and no one touching base with any of the settlements that had allied to us. For all evidence, I’m the only ranking member of the Minutemen and one of two members period.”

“Preston, that’s…” Not useful to her in any way, she wanted to say. But something about the certainness in his eyes made her stop and question. So she took a last drink of her now depressingly empty bowl and set it aside, and asked quietly, “Why do I get the feeling I’m involved in this, somehow?”

“You’re smart.” He answered simply, setting his bowl on the floor beside him and leaning forward, hands on either of his knees for support. “Smart and calculating, and better on both those than I could ever hope to be. I saw it, back in Concord. The way you fought and moved, how you, a civilian, dealt with those Assembly raiders. And then against the Deathclaw, you showed just how god damn brave you could be.”

“I’m a soldier and nothing more than that.” He went on, before she could interrupt what was probably a rehearsed statement on his part. “I’m not a politician, I don’t know how to deal with people. I’m not a governor, I don’t know how to keep records or memorize information, or gather new information to make up a plan. But back in Concord and here, you’ve been doing that. Digging, adapting, learning.”

“I’m… A historian.” She responded quietly, “It’s what I do. Literally. I dig up information and… Adapt it to my understanding, so I can figure things out.”

“You’re also Pre-War.” He grunted simply, jutting a thumb over his shoulder towards the door when her eyes widened in evident shock. Speaking quietly and, for once, lacking his little smirks and chuckles, he explained, “Your tin can is helping us set up on top of the Vault right now, cutting apart useless wood hunks to be hauled up. He helped cook the food, too. He told us all about it, and being in the Vault helped confirm it. We saw the pods, and Sturges read the old files. Cryo-Storage, and with one pod opened. Recently.”

“I… It was mine, yeah.” She confirmed, trapped by too much evidence and ignorance to even see a point in trying to argue. Part of which was literally stitched onto her back, the bright yellow numbers more than enough to tell the tale. “The bombs were dropping, and we were brought in. They said it was a… Decontamination chamber, before we went into the Vault proper. Then they froze us.”

“The terminals confirmed as much, yeah.” Preston sighed, “And there was one person who’d been shot.”

“My husband. He had our son, Shaun, with him. A man came in and… And he shot Nate, and stole our baby.” She said, adding after a brief second, “I went to Concord looking for leads on where they might have gone. But if the Minutemen are in that kind of state, then how can they-”

“They can still help you. And more than Diamond City’s lazy security or the Raider Tribes will, that’s for sure.” Preston interrupted, standing and dragging the chair to the side, out of the way of the door. “We can rebuild the Minutemen. I can command soldiers and you can get us back into shape.”

“What do you mean, get you back into shape?”

“You’re a historian, and from before the war to boot.” He answered, smiling eagerly at the words. Like a man drowning and latching onto hope, she could hear the energy crawling into his words with each one of them. “With your knowledge and guidance, we can rebuild the Minutemen to their former glory. Better, even! You can lead us and, starting right here at the Vault, we can rebuild from the ground up. Once we have the numbers, we can expand, and search for your son. And once he’s found, you and I can command the Minutemen to his rescue. And an army will march.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan, to say the least. And it sure beat the hell out of wandering around in skin-tight semi-latex like some kind of stripper, with not a clue on what to do or where to go. And he brought up a good point besides. If that man had her son out there somewhere, and had a gun that worked, he was a part of something bigger. And she and her dinky little pistol, for all that it was pretty damn excellent at its job, were not equipped to stand up to any kind of force that itself fielded firearms. She’d need the support and infrastructure to survive, need the forces to comb the Commonwealth for any clues or leads, and most importantly, need the army to rescue him. 

And where the hell else was she going to get a readily offering and able military commander to give her the validation of an old military organization that she could build? Nowhere without some damn fine luck, and she felt that most of her luck had worn out in setting this up in the first place. Short of some god’s intervention, now, she didn’t believe she had any chance of getting another shot like this.

“It won’t be like the Minutemen of old, Preston.” She said simply as she rose, good hand propping her up on the shack wall beside her. The man nodded and she scowled, taking a step forward and shaking her head firmly, “No. It will be very different if I build this for you. You might not like some parts of what I build. The way I will rule, the goals I set for us- You won’t like all of them. I don’t need blind idealism that will founder when things get nasty down the road.”

“As long as you don’t start strapping slave-collars to every man, woman and child in the Commonwealth, and you protect the people, I won’t have much complaint.” He answered simply, taking a deep breath and letting it out in one smooth motion. “If I disagree with you, I’ll say so. And if you can convince me, I’ll change my mind.”

“If I can’t?” She asked, a thin eyebrow climbing with the question. “Say you and I disagree and I overrule you. What happens then? WIll you turn on me, coup?”

“No, Ma’am.” He answered simply and earnestly, seemingly affronted by the mere suggestion he would consider those sorts of answers to that sort of problem. Shaking his head, he went on, “I know you won’t turn into some evil tyrant. Someone like that would have offered us up to the Assembly, not helped us, but you didn’t even hesitate.”

“Hm.” That was true, at least, she very much hadn’t. “If you’re certain that you want to do this…”

“I am.”

“Then I need a better space to work in than this, and that’s our first goal.” She stated simply, stooping to pick up her bowl and return it to him. He took it without complaint and she asked, “Start with an update. You said that we were camped at the Vault, but we’re not in it obviously. What kind of work is going on?”

“Burials for the dead people frozen inside, first and foremost.” He answered simply, sliding to a stiff, military stance on what she supposed was some kind of instinct of his. She grimaced but honestly, she was glad that Nate and the neighbors would get a proper burial rather than an icy tomb. And when she didn’t interrupt, he went on with his explanation, “After that, Sturges plans on ripping the pods out. The back chamber where you were kept will be converted to a refrigerated food storage, and that part’s already underway. The cryo systems can’t freeze the room all the way, the space is too much, but it’s icy enough in there to store meat and produce.”

“Good.” Long term food storage was a problem easily solved, then. “What about the other chamber?”

“Sturges says he wants to try sealing up the cryo systems in that one and use it for general storage.” The man answered, “But failing that? Another big damn freezer. Once we get crops running outside simply foraging the area, that kind of storage will be invaluable. The barracks have been emptied out, too, and the supplies and furniture has been stored in the entryway for now. That, soon enough, will be a barracks for us.”

Refrigeration for food, fresh water from the Vault’s systems, a solid home, the barracks sorted with space enough for all of them… He seemed to have things well in hand. Enough so that she questioned his apparent need of her help. Not that she would mention that to him, of course. She needed the help he’d given her whether he needed hers or not, and she meant to make it hers. 

“Labor assignments?” She asked, shifting uncomfortably and taking the chair when he held it out for her. It was better than the ground at least. “Thanks, Preston. What is everyone doing? And how are our supplies?”

“The Longs are helping Sturges take things apart and hauling it out to wherever he says to put it. Stanley is out running forage and hunting, won’t be back ‘til tomorrow probably. And Mama Murphy is…” He shrugged and she understood the gesture well enough. She was too old to help with labor, after all, so she probably wasn’t being much help. “Been a week, like I said, so a lot of work is already done. Sturges still needs time to get the rest up and running but if you want it, the General’s quarters are set up well enough.”

“The General’s…?”

“The Overseer’s quarters have been cleaned up for me if you said no to my offer, and you if you said yes.” He answered, stepping to the side and waving a hand to the door with a small smile. “Want me to show you there? It’s late enough so don’t expect anyone comin’ to see you, or doing anything but heading to bed, but I can show you there.”

“That would be wonderful, yeah.” She answered, getting up again and following him out the door. 

When she’d left, the hill that the Vault had been built into had been a sparsely vegetated, mostly empty lot of rusting cars and old crates and skeletons. All of that had been cleared out, though, with the cars pushed to the edge of the hill’s top and lined in a long barrier along it. Cleaned steel panels, wooden slats, and whatever else had been mixed and matched into ramps at each corner that led up to walkways, with car doors ripped off the inside sides of the cars and used for makeshift battlements.

Her shack was one of several up there, and also the smallest. Why, she wasn’t sure, but she supposed they’d wanted quiet for her to rest in. One of the shacks was full of wood, kept out of the rain to preserve it, but the other she couldn’t be sure of.

“Hunter’s spot.” Preston answered when he saw her looking, gesturing at the table outside and the wide array of knives in the bucket under. “Hunters and foragers can sleep in the shack. The table is for the preparation of meat and forage before it gets sent in for storage.”

“Ah, got it.” It made sense, and theirs wasn’t the first society to have to rely on hunting and gathering at least somewhat. Nor was it the first to make huts for them to come and go as they pleased, for that matter.

The security booth that controlled access to the Vault had apparently been turned into the Codsworth sanctuary, with the machine hovering idly inside. It waved a manipulator and made to come when it spotted her, but she waved it off. More important for him to mind the boiling pot and fire at the end of the ramp, she was certain, and they could catch up later if she wanted to. Together, she and Preston stepped onto the Vault’s elevator platform and Codsworth sent it down for them with a heavy, screeching protest. 

Yeah, they’d be doing something about that really damn fast.

To say the entrance was clogged would have been the least of it. The side opposite the the stairs up, to the proper Vault door, was full of piled metal from further in. A dozen of the cryo-pods had been stacked, with piles of their cabling beside them and, further to the side, ruined furniture that couldn’t be easily fixed had been piled up. The crates from outside were the last in line, stacked neatly beside file cabinets and Vault-Tec crates from inside the Vault. The opposite side was less full, stacked with half-a-dozen sets of mail from the Raiders, a handful of shields, and seven spears alongside one of the Laser Muskets, several axes, tools and more ‘miscellaneous’ clothing bits as well as other, mismatched sets of armor pieces. 

“Wasteland Code was called halfway through a battle.” Preston explained, pointing at the Assembly painted shield. “That entitled us to half the loot from those we killed. The Raiders turned it over, though… Getting it here was a bit of a pain. The rest of the Vault is… Mostly the same, leading to your bed, though. You know the way?”

“Not going to take me all the way there?”

“I have to get back up top and take over watch.” He answered with a shrug, turning and retrieving his rifle. Giving it a crank, the machine hummed to red, furious life, and he nodded with a small smile, “Your robot can handle it for a bit, but I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. Get some rest, Ma’am. Tomorrow, we start the real work.”

She nodded her farewell and he left, leaving her behind to find her own way to her room. It was, as he’d said, pretty much the same. Though with the addition of a single stand and, on it, a long, white uniform coat like Preston’s. Albeit with a haphazard, poorly stitched on set of five stars. The little leather hat had the same poorly stitched on stars, but she figured it would do well enough for now at least.

Soon enough, she’d replace it with something better. Just like she’d replace every inch of the Commonwealth with something better.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Party Pat :  
Hope Preston’s brief statement explains. If the Code is invoked halfway through a battle, you get half the loot that each side agrees is non-negotiably ‘your kills’. Also, the Muties don’t have dakka, but they don’t need it. Big jagoff hammers are bad enough and, in most cases, its brawn against brawn when they go after something.

Rook :  
Yes, kinda like that. This chapter serves as a sort of segue, but soon enough, I intend Nora to start her analyzing/historian schtick. Accruing knowledge and writing it down, or putting it into terminals. Then you all will get a better idea of laws, politics and cultures.


	5. Heavy Metal Ideas

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

Over the course of the next two weeks she learned two very interesting, very useful, and very obvious sets of lessons. 

The first was that broken bones sucked something fierce. Every inch of her skin itched all along her side and more, and moving - sometimes even just breathing, or lying still - could sting and burn like something insane. But with that came the discovery that Med-X, or morphine as the Old World called it, was better at broken bones than birth pains. And the Vault had held a decent enough store of it, as well as Stim-Packs, and together she was mended far faster than she had any normal right to expect.

The second came once she’d healed enough to move and carry around at least basic tools. And that was that construction sucked even fiercer than broken bones did. And that was particularly the case in the ‘lacking proper tools of any kind most of the time’ variety. The Vault had, of course, held a small cache of tools - wrenches, a few hammers, and the like - but it lacked some they found themselves needing. Saws for metal and wood, for instance, or nails that were fresh and new for another. Mostly they’d had, as expectable, tools to maintain a Vault.

They found ways to make due, though. Which lead to Sturges calling her in after Sanctuary had been looted of what they needed and what was readily available, and work for her to do had ground to a halt.

A small, temporary makeshift workshop had been set in the Vault for their resident Tinker to do his work on the surface and in the Vault. And of course, it was as cluttered with makeshift tables and scattered tools as one would expect. It had been tucked into the corner of the Vault’s entryway, opposite the door that lead towards the personnel quarters built off to the side. All the better to clear out the cryo-sections, Sturges had assured them, and it kept him and his tools out of their way regardless.

A win-win situation if she’d ever seen one, that was certain.

“Deathclaws have impressive horns as well as claws.” Sturges explained while he worked, sat in the Vault’s entryway. Holding a hammer in one hand and a short piece of wood in the other, he smiled, “Not many people think about the horns, though, given… Well, the obvious. Called Deathclaws, after all, not Deathhorns.”

“Makes sense I guess.” She nodded, having gotten a very good look at those horns in her fight with the beast. “How does this solve our problem, though?”

“Well… Your bot helped me get a nice pieces cut off of it, which is the tricky part.” At that he locked his knees around the arm’s length of straight wood and turned, hefting a fist sized hunk of bone she swiftly recognized as the base of the horn, cut off and then sharpened at the thinner side. Turning it so the top pressed against the head of the stick, he raised his hammer and smiled, “Now comes the part I hope not to mess up…”

As gently as one could smash a hammer into anything, he brought it down on the horn with a dull thunk. Several times he did that before the wood split slightly and then he did it twice more, driving down gently and slowly into the wood. With a satisfied grunt, he held out a hand and she handed him the leather chord he’d earlier asked her to hold. Twining it around the axe and the wood in a dizzying set of knots, he trussed it off and smiled, holding up the primitive axe he’d made.

“Ta-dah!” He smiled, handing the wood and bone tool to her and giving her a small nod. “I’ll need to rewrap the handle in something better for gripping, but a Deathclaw horn axe is pretty damn good.”

“Is it really?” It was still a primitive bone tool, after all. It couldn’t be that impressive, and it looked like something she’d seen in museums centered on ancient man. 

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Sturges nodded excitedly and turned, laying the axe beside a stack of several bone shards and three times as many sticks all piled up on the crowded work table behind him. Extras in case he made a mistake, she guessed. “An axehead like that will outlast a dozen handles like the one I just made. And with a dozen like it? Well, getting the wall Preston wants set up will be a lot easier with it.”

“Good. We can use it, definitely.” A log palisade wasn’t the strongest of defenses, but compared to scrap piles and random hunks of steel fixed together? It would be an improvement.

And one less source of tetanus related anxieties, to say the damn least…

“Yeah. I can get the Longs to work on it tomorrow, there’s plenty of good trees around to lumber down for what we need.” Sturges nodded, stretching his arms over his head and groaning tiredly. Through a yawn, he added, “They’ll do good with some fresh air and hard work to not need to think while they’re out and about.”

No doubt he was tired, he’d spent the last week working from the moment he got up to the moment he went to sleep. Even with their help, his workload was through the roof. And she could see it in his face and how he sat, shoulders slumped and eyes a bit sleepy and tired until he focused on something. She could, she knew, order him to slow down and take time to rest…

But they needed the work done. She did, and her son did, and the Minutemen as a whole did. She could rest him after he was done enough for them to move on. And to that end, she cleared her throat and sat up straighter, demanding his attention.

“You said you had work for me.” She spoke simply, and the man nodded in answer. “And the kind that you’d been waiting on for when I was recovered, too, I’m guessing. Considering you didn’t say anything sooner.”

“Well, I wanted you and Preston to check something out, and you needed to heal so you could walk, so… Yeah.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, giving her one of his playful, know-it-all grins. “I had to wait. Blame whoever thought wrestling a Deathclaw was a good plan, boss lady.”

“I seem to remember that being your plan…”

“Nope!” He snapped his black stained fingers, grinning all the while and turning to retrieve his next set of bone chunks and wood. Talking while he worked on the next axe, he went on, “Actually, my plan was for you to beat off the Raiders in that armor. Hugging a giant murder lizard was super not part of my plan. But hey, it worked out in the end, right?”

“I nearly died, so…” And she couldn’t be sure, but she felt like that was a big deal.

“Welcome to the Wasteland, General!” The Tinker laughed, gently beating the next horn-axe into shape. Pursing his lips while he worked, he went on in a quieter tone, more for focusing than any other reason she was sure, “Out here, every plan is probably going to involve uncomfortable brushes with the old man and his scythe. Just the way the world works.”

“Hm. Yeah, I guess...” It made sense. This was, essentially, a medieval society even with the advanced technology scattered around. Everything could be lethal, now, and everything required a fight. And on that note, she asked, “What job is it you have for me, then? One that’ll need a fight?”

“Hopefully not. Damn it-” The stick he was working on snapped, the bone axehead nearly falling, and he sighed. Setting the stick aside for kindling later and giving her his full attention he explained, “There’s an old scrap-yard across the lake. Full of old cars that look mostly scrapped out, but do you know the one?”

“I do, yeah.” Stanley’s or something, she couldn’t remember the name. She just remembered Nate liked picking up junk for target practice out in the woods from there. Sprinting as fast as she could from that line of thought she went on, “Hauling a car over for scrap would be a bit hard on us, wouldn’t it?”

“Would be, yeah.” The man nodded and grinned, then, “But I’m not sending you out to haul an old car up to part out.”

“No?”

“No, we have plenty of cars around here for that. At least for a little while, I mean.” Nothing that could be used to assemble new cars, she knew. He’d made that clear to her days prior. They could, eventually, salvage the frames and make tread systems, but that was down the line from where they were. “Nah, there’s something better there that we could use. Known about it for a while, but we needed something that could get us access to it and a source of power that could keep a tri-FC cell pack charged.”

“Tri-FC?”

“Triple Fusion Core.” He explained quickly, tone bare of any condescension one might have expected from someone explaining what to him was probably a basic thing. “Just means you have a power systems that stacks Cores, instead of the SC system. Or Single Core.”

“Like Power Armor?”

“Yeah, like a Power Armor system. Or a Gatling Laser system, for that matter, though I’ve never actually seen one of those.” Which was to be expected, she supposed. Even Pre-War, Heavy Laser systems like that hadn’t been terribly common. Not enough to show civilians, at the very least, while parades usually had a company of PA soldiers marching to show off the power. “But no, yeah, there’s a Tri-FC system there, which is why the bot it’s in hasn’t been looted. Damn things needed to vent heat kind of often, and ate through their cores. It even has a laser cannon, and that only means more energy consumption. And an engine that lets it move, too.”

“Wait, is there a damn Sentry Bot there?” Those had prototypes she’d heard of with additional power banks meant to let it move faster, or carry more armor, she knew. 

“Yep.” The man nodded, grinning and apparently pleased she’d recognized the things he was saying enough to call it out. In a far more excited tone he went on, “The Bot there, from what our friendly neighborhood hunter up top told me, is pretty much intact. Its laser is fine, or will be when I finish fixing it up, but the secondary machine gun looks too rusted up to really maintain anymore.”

“And we can’t keep supplying ammunition either.”

“Right, yeah, that too of course.” The man nodded, waving it away in an obvious ‘I knew that’ sort of fashion. Still smiling, though, he went on, finally getting to the part where she got her job from him. “Take your Pip-Boy, go there, and try and access it. There’s a terminal nearby that might help. Order it to come here and I can reprogram it with your Pip-Boy and the terminals here in the Vault.”

“You can do that?”

“Probably. And if I can’t get it trundling around on jobs, or even just defending the Vault, I can always just… Scrap it.” He shrugged, though, and went on at length in the same energetic way he sometimes did. “The armor sections could make for good Power Armor scrap parts. And the engine and wheel system could make a decent transport out of one of these smaller Corvega frames… After I sand down and polish up the metal, of course.”

“Of course.” Otherwise, Tetanus, which as previously stated, was an ass to deal with nowadays apparently. “So you want me to just bring it back. Sounds easy enough.”

“I mean yeah, I just needed someone with the time to actually go and do the damn thing.” He chuckled and shook his head, then, and turned to get his next set of axe materials. Setting to work once again, he added, “I’d suggest taking preston, though. There are Raiders nearby enough they might come to see you.”

“Raiders?”

“Yeah, but far as we know, they’re outcasts.” The Tinker assured her, working quietly while he did. When her brow furrowed he added, “People that break the Code, or the rules of their tribe or what have you, are Outcast. Basically, tribeless. Stanley took the time to get a good look at ‘em when he was out there. Armor’s ragged, next to no one on watch, and no banners hanging anywhere or supplies running in from other places.”

“So it can’t be an outpost, yeah.” Else it would receive supplies and have banners flying, apparently, from what the man had said. “Should we… Deal with them, then? Before they cause problems, I mean.”

“Well to be frank, that’s not my call to make.” The man shrugged and waved a hand towards the open Vault door and, beyond that, the world above them. “Stanley’s resting with Preston up top, waiting for you. If you do want to deal with them, take both. You’ll need the firepower.”

“True enough.” She nodded and stood, straightening her officer’s uniform as she did and plucking her tricorn from the back of her chair. Waving a hand over her shoulder, she called as she left, “Don’t work too hard, Sturges!”

“You know I will, Boss Lady!”

She chuckled as she stepped onto the lift and, a moment later, it began to grind up. Much quieter than before now, thankfully, since Sturges had gone through and cleaned the mechanisms out a bit. Still, there was only so quiet that a massive thing like the Vault’s elevator would be, since it had been fitted so snugly to keep out the radiation. Still, it was quieter than it had been before, and the short trip up passed by quickly enough to not be too painful.

On the surface, she was swiftly met by Preston, Musket red and humming in his hands while the young man smiled, “General. All done helping out Sturges for the day?”

“Yes… But also no. And congrats, by the way, you’re helping him too now.” He raised an eyebrow and she clapped him on the shoulder as she stepped past him, headed towards where the gate to their little slice of paradise would be. “Just get Stanley, load up enough supplies for an overnight trip to somewhere with a building to sleep in and meet me down at the Sanctuary Bridge, alright?”

“Yes, General. Right away, no delay.” He nodded curtly in the way he did often enough and turned to trot off towards the little shack Stanley used to rest and drop off his findings for others to do what they wanted with them.

Sanctuary itself had, at least in the section directly around her house, been cleaned up to an almost impressive degree. Relatively speaking, of course. The old pavement was still cracked by roots and age, and the houses were still as much made up of holes as they were actual house. But the cars had been broken down or hauled away, either up the hill or off to be stacked by the bridge in a disorganized pile. The same had been done with the furniture, tools that could be found, and the hunks of the fallen houses. Either piled in the massive mound she could see beside the bridge or hauled up for whatever construction or other purpose found for them.

In all honesty, it was… Kind of impressive and sad at the same time, how efficiently and completely they’d stripped everything in sight as they moved through Sanctuary.

On the other side of the bridge - the damn bridge - she sat at the feet of the old Minuteman statue and let her head rest against it. It was comfortable enough, if a bit chilly but the officer’s uniform was warm enough, for her to wait. 

“We’re here, General.” Preston called as he approached fifteen minutes later, his Musket humming its threat gently. Stanley was behind him, looking in need of a shave and a laundromat but well enough, and the man offered a hand to pull her up as he joined her. “Sturges gave us the gist. I hear you’re thinking we should clear out some outcasts?”

“I’m thinking we should consider it, yeah.” She nodded, resting a hand on her pistol in its holster on her side. Turning she led the way, talking while they walked. “Way I figure, they’ll have something in the way of supplies, and no one likes Outcasts. Right?”

“No one but other goddamn Outcasts. N’ maybe the Gunners would tolerate ‘em, those bastards have no standards.” Stanley grunted quietly, clearly not particularly in a talking mood today. Which was fair, considering the fact that aside from her Deathclaw he was feeding all of them. 

So she let it slide and turned to Preston instead.

“If their numbers are enough, we can take the camp.” She thought for a moment and, on a thought, asked, “Maybe turn in the survivors to the Assembly?”

“Turn them in to the Assembly?” The man didn’t seem that enthused about that, to say the least. But, owing to the trust he’d extended her, he grimaced and asked more politely, “Why do you want to do that, General?”

“We’re not exactly in the most secure place, right now. And word will get out about us entrenching up there at the old Vault. Once it does, it’s a short jump to people assuming we have access.” She answered simply, shrugging her uniformed shoulders and finishing simply, “If we have access then, with enough manpower, they can get access.”

“So you want to be diplomatic to not have to fight them right now. And giving over the Outcasts we don’t kill in the fight would do that.” She hadn’t meant to imply a time she would envision wanting to hunt for a fight, but she nodded regardless. And that seemed to be enough to put the soldier at ease, earning her a small nod. “Makes sense to me, General.”

“Same here.” Stanley offered helpfully as they passed by the little town where they’d had their rather spectacular battle. 

That more or less settled, at least for now, the group fell into a comfortable silence. Or, well, as comfortable of a silence as they could fall into while walking through a dead silent and basically inarguably hostile wasteland. Which was to say, only comfortable in the ‘no one is trying to stab you’ and ‘you can see if people try to come after you to stab you’ kinds of ways. 

An improvement over most of the alternatives, she was sure.

The next hour passed in relative comfort and silence, the crunching of their boots and calls of birds overhead all they had to break the silence. It was a nice walk, if cold and grey and tiring. Soon, she spotted the quarry ahead, old and overgrown in places around the edges and with depressions full of water depressed into the earth by the weight of the great, carved stone slabs left resting there far too long. ‘Thicket Excavations’ according to her Pip-Boy when she checked.

“Good stone here, General. Really good stone, actually.” Preston grunted as they rounded a bend in the road and he slowed, looking the stacks of granite slabs over with an eye that seemed to know what it was looking for. “Did you know there was a granite quarry like this here?”

“Yeah, I did. Construction trucks with the place’s name used to roll about all the time.” Ahead of them she knew the old radar station Olivia rested, which was actually how she knew about Thicket Excavations, even if not by name. For a while, her husband had served there, acting as security in the tall watchtower built beside it to turn access to the radar into also a lookout post, once the riots began. “Why do you ask? Do you have ideas, Preston?” 

“Stone like this would make for damn strong walls. Fort walls for the Vault if we don’t process it down somehow, or bricks for stone-work houses.” He said by way of answer, kneeling to pull some of the gnarled vines off of the stacked slabs by the road and whistling at what he found. “Getting it back would be a problem, though… Four Brahmin would take a day to haul one, and I don’t know that they could get it up that hill.”

“The Sentry Bot we’re after could.” Probably, at least, and he was right that the granite would make for good housing and fortifications. Fine enough that she’d be happy to try, even if it had a good chance of failure. “Nate said that the Mark Ones could haul light tanks and APCs, he saw it happen when they’d get stuck or damaged. A Mark Two like we’re after would have more hauling power.”

“True…”

“And Sturges could make something that rolls for us to pull them on, I’m sure.” He was a genius from what she’d seen. Whether that was a Sturges thing or a Tinker thing, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t much care either way. She could use him and that was what mattered, in the end. “Don’t worry about it for now. Right now, we need to scout out the Radar Station up ahead.”

“Doing that first are we?”

“You have a better idea, Stanley?” She asked, cocking a hip and resting a hand on it. The man grimaced, expecting a telling off she supposed, and she rushed to disarm him, “Because if you do, put it out there. I’m new to all this and I will listen to my soldiers if they have suggestions.”

“Mhm. Makes you better than some Minutemen officers, I guess.” He gave Preston a nod when his brows shot up and smiled, shaking his head. “Not you, Preston. I mean others. Remember Amara back in the day?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I do.” But the man didn’t seem willing to get into whoever ‘Amara’ was and instead turned to the man and grunted a simple, “What's your suggestion then, Stanley?”

“Use the ‘Bot to help clear the Outcasts out.” The man answered with a small shrug, no doubt feeling like the answer was an obvious one. “I bet it has a big damn laser like most ‘Bots I see from the Old World tend to. And a big damn laser would make our job a hell of a lot easier.”

“Good idea.” She nodded, knowing a more prideful woman probably would have ignored it for him suggesting it. But she liked to they she was better than that, as ironic as that phrase was here. Turning, she started her walk again and grunted, “Come on, then. Let’s get the Sentry Bot and deal with the problem tomorrow.”

From there, and making a large mental note on the granite supply here, they moved on in silence once again. As they neared the radar station, though, they turned off the road. Hidden behind the embankment on the far side of the road from it, and down the hill from it besides of course, they were easily out of view and so passed by unmolested.

And so, as the sun began to set, they finally reached the scrapyard.

“Looks like we aren’t the first people to come here…” Preston remarked as they stepped through the old, broken fence’s gate. 

And seeing what he meant by that was a simple enough task, even for her inexperienced eyes. Instead of uneven piles of old, scrapped cars, the now-ancient vehicles had been stacked along the fenceline. High enough to form walls, in fact, enclosing the compound well enough to at least approximate a ‘secure site’. The front gate was, of course, left with a gap and a hole directly across the area from it let out on the opposite end. Presumably for water and, judging from the bushes she could just make out near the lake, for foraged food as well. 

The Sentry Bot had been rolled, by hand or otherwise, into the back right corner and left under a tatty plastic tarp that covered a lot of the left side. A few feet away an old, obviously derelict pot lay on its side, complete with a rusted spoon, a crushed bucket and a broken tripod that would have been used to cook stew. The old concrete bunker - she had no other words for it - had been similarly converted, with a pair of beds opposite the door and the terminal and shelves moved just to the side of it.

“Did you know about this…?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Stanley grunted, strolling right in and pulling his pack off his bag with one hand. Sitting on the bed he groaned and sighed, tired and sore in the way that older men always were after a day of work. “Old camp. Abandoned. Stayed her one night, after five of no one being here. The camp’s obviously abandoned.”

“Hm.” He probably still should have reported it, but she shrugged it off and cut him the slack he clearly needed, given the leg work he’d been putting in for them. Instead she simply nodded and ordered, “Stanley get some rest. Preston, get the fire going and some food, and first watch. I’ll set to work on the Sentry Bot.”

“Reminds me, General. Sturges gave me something he said would help you with the ‘Bot.” Preston grunted as he pulled his own pack off to set to work, pulling a small box out and holding it out to her. She took it and he explained as best he could, “Some kind of bypass. He said to plug your Pip-Boy up to it, download it, and use it to change the robot’s programming.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, taking it and moving to sit at the terminal while the man left to get to work and Stanley rolled over to sleep.

When she plugged her Pip-Boy up she got a fright, the screen flickering and dying for a long moment. She was just about to yank the cord out when it flickered back to life, just as good as before, and she saw a new menu. ‘Security’. When she opened it, nothing was there, but on a whim she stood and plugged her Pip-Boy into the terminal.

That time, when she opened it, it had a menu. One that at first read ‘Read Holotape’ and, when she clicked it, was a wall of options. Including targeting parameters, which she swiftly set to work playing with, alongside command protocols, designation settings and everything else under the sun. By the time she had finished, hours had passed and it was dark outside.

But, when she leaned against the door and raised her Pip-Boy, a simple button press was answered by the thrumming of an engine. And with it, a baritone, electronic, “Awaiting orders, General.”

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Okay so, I kind of forgot what kind of stone Thicket Excavations had. Apologies. I think it is Granite, so I went with it. Also, to whomever it may concern, Nora is not military. So mistakes in military command are purposeful and understood.

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PartyPat :  
I will take it into consideration.

Nick :  
Well, you said you liked the survivalism and realism. I hope you enjoyed the one and a half thousand words just building an axe while I world built some of the progression and set up the next builds for the Minutemen. XD


	6. First Day Doing the Job

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Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Designate unit commander, General Nora. Commonwealth Minutemen.” She ordered, waving a hand to Preston beside her and adding, in as authoritative a voice as she could manage with a ten foot tall machine’s glowing red eyes glaring down on her, “Designate secondary command unit, unit commander Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Command confirmed. Hello, General Nora. Unit Commander Preston Garvey.” Stiffly in the way a moderately rusted robot would, the machine straightened and rose to its full height. With his heavy laser cannon, it snapped as close to a salute as it was able. “I am RobCo’s latest patriotism supplement, prototype designation SB-X series. Individual designation serial number zero-zero-zero-one. Reporting for duty, Ma’am.”

“Patriotism supplement...?” Preston murmured, shaking his head and turning to her. “You talk like you’ve… Dealt with these things before.”

“Husband was military, served in an armored unit and had to work with military robots. He taught me all about them in case…” In case the war got worse and she had been drafted, but that worry seemed silly now. Nuclear fire had come before she could suffer under the draft like her husband had. Shaking it off she went on, “My husband taught me in case things got worse. And since we have its command card, it’ll obey me. Pip-Boy has some perks after all.”

“You’re telling me…”

“System report.” She demanded of the machine while the man turned to head off, presumably to work on something. 

“One moment, General.” The machine responded, mechanical salute falling and eyes dimming as it diverted its processing power inward. As it checked its systems, the mechanisms shifted and rumbled. Its gatling laser spun first, and then its minigun tried to, rusty components screeching as it slowly, weakly rotated. “Error. Rotary ballistic cannon non-functional. Repairs needed.”

“Noted.” And sadly not something they could actually do anything to fix. Moving on, she ordered, “Continue systems check and ignore non-functioning weapon system.”

“Confirmed.” Now its wheels spun, one after another as it checked each one. Finished with that, its chassis leaned forward and its back opened up, venting heat and resealing. That done, its eyes lit back up and it turned its attention back to her in full, “Power registering at forty-nine percent. Rear wheel registering mild blockages, hindering mobility to eighty-three percent. Heavy rotary laser cannon operating in near-optimal levels. Armor integrity registering at sixty-two percent. Overall functionality at… Forty two percent.”

“Refactor and neglect non-functioning weapon system.” It was a nonsense factoring anyway, since they’d never be repairing it. 

“Affirmative.” The machine responded, “Overall functionality revised to… Seventy four percent. Unit is not combat capable. Unit requires repairs.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, ‘Bot.” Seventy four percent would be more than enough, since that number was matched against men and women with spears, shield and mail armor. Somehow she doubted that the Sentry Bot would really have any problems blasting through that level defence. “Patrol the perimeter until I or the others give further commands. Minimal movement, though. Conserve your power levels.”

“Acknowledged and complying.” With a whirr, the machine trundled off, out the front gate where it stopped at the road to look both ways. Like a mechanical child checking before crossing.

She left it to do its job and turned, heading into the small concrete building they’d settled into. 

“General.” Stanley straightened, recovered and clearly feeling better after a night of food and rest. He could clearly use more, eyes still a bit sunken and joints popping as he stood from the bed to greet her. “Back from the scouting trip, Ma’am. When you’re ready to hear it, I mean.”

“Stew.” She jerked her head back out the way she’d come from and the man followed her.

Seated by the boiling pot of forage and with warm bowls in their hands, the man started talking, “There’s around a dozen of them, but they aren’t well looked after. Gear’s in rough shape, supplies are kinda low, and the place isn’t really defensible.” He paused to take a sip of the sweet broth and sighed, “Mostly it’s just the Pre-War fence around the place. Old watch tower or whatever that they’re bunking in and using for a lookout.”

“Sounds pretty straight forward.” Preston grunted in response, pausing to watch the Sentry Bot trundle through the camp to look out the back. “Especially with him around to do the heavy lifting.”

“Mhm.” Something about his description stuck out to her, though, and she asked quietly, “Why don’t they sleep inside the array, though? Gotta be more comfortable inside than in a drafty old room on stilts. Especially as cold as it can get at night.”

“Dunno, they don’t seem to. Even though the place looks like it’s in good enough shape for it.” The man shrugged and took another slurp of his stew, sighing as the hot food and broth warmed him. She could sympathise and did the same while it was hot, motivated by a stiff breeze that had her missing central heating very fiercely. Grimacing, he added, “Sometimes they go in, though. Saw it twice. Both times they came out smiling and laughing, so something in there is amusing them.”

“Did they have weapons?”

“Hm?”

“Did they take weapons in with them?” Preston asked lowly, voice barely above a growl and eyes narrowed to slits.

“Yeah, they did. At least I saw them do it once or twice.” Stanley nodded, suddenly grave and quiet at Preston’s questions. Aiming to offer as much as he could for the man’s thoughts, to help him think through it, he went on, “Mostly they carried knives and blunt shit, like pipes, in with ‘em.”

“Son-of-a-bitch… God damn raiders!” Preston sneered and stood, chewing his lip and pacing around his stool agitatedly. Before she could ask what had set him off so, he turned to her and explained himself, “They have prisoners, General. Outcasts like these grab ‘em all the time in raids and the like, before they get put down. They’re probably beating them. Drugging them. Whatever they can to make ‘em snap and join up.”

“Probably the only way they can get more recruits, bein’ Outcasts.” Stanley added, explaining the logic when she raised an eyebrow at it, her question clear for him to see, “Normally, the Raider Tribes grow the natural way. Repopulation, marriage exchanges, trading slaves and recruiting slaves if they’re willing to turn their colors.”

“So they raided and kidnapped people?” She asked, getting a simple nod from the calmer of the two men. Pursing her lips, she sighed and leaned back on her seat. “...It would be a good start on our come back, if we can pull it off.”

“We can, Ma’am. I’m sure of it. Two of us are marksmen, and you have your pistol. By itself, we should be able to handle a little band of Outcasts.” Preston assured her, pointing a long arm towards the Sentry-Bot currently watching their perimeter. “Add in the ‘Bot and we have overwhelming firepower.”

“And a band of Outcasts that close to Sanctuary doesn’t feel right.” Stanley added after he finished his stew and set the bowl beside the fire to let the heat dry it. “Too much risk on its own. Add in the prisoners, though? Respectfully, Ma’am, I’m going up there to make a move on this whether you agree to it or not.”

“Oh really now?” She chuckled when the man shrugged and nodded, clearly apathetic about his technically threatening treason in front of his superior. From the way Preston had gone still, stiff shouldered and with his back to her, she was willing to wager he would too. Sighing, she stood and called out, “Sentry Bot, end patrol pattern and report for combat duty!”

“Affirmative, General Nora.” The machine answered, rumbling towards her and pausing to vent its heat and set its laser barrels spinning to ready it. “Preparing combat systems.”

“Preston, Stanley, I want you to leave now.” She ordered as the two men rose, backs and shoulders straight and ready to enact her orders now they knew she meant to intervene. “Circle around the base and find vantage points to shoot into the area from cover from. I’ll wait down the road with the robot and when we hear you firing, we’ll come running. Or, well, rolling as the case may be.”

“Understood, Ma’am. We’ll head out right away so we can get this done.” Preston grunted, turning and pulling his Musket off his back. As it warmed in his hands, the man gave her a look and said, “Let the ‘Bot do the heavy lifting, though. No reason for us to put ourselves on the chopping block with him around, right?”

“That’s the plan, Preston. No reason not to use what I got.” She nodded, more than happy to not have to risk getting stabbed. Smiling, she grabbed the handles on the shoulder of the Sentry Bot and pulled herself up on its right side, standing with her foot on the back leg and her other on its waist. Holding herself on by the same handle, she smiled and cheered, “Riding in like the conquering hero to save the day, and maybe score some recruits for the cause.”

“Recruits, Ma’am…?”

“If they lost their homes, then we can give them one, and with protection and shelter to boot. I doubt they’ll turn us down after we save them.” Altruism with benefits, as she liked to call it. Helping to do the right thing, but of course knowing what you would get out of it for doing so. “We won’t press them in, Preston, but we’ll offer.”

“Not a bad way to get our own numbers up.” Stanley offered quietly, standing next to the man and half-turning to him. “I’m assuming she means farmers and traders, not just soldiers, Preston. Right, General?”

“I mean recruiting them as whatever they want to be, Preston.” She answered simply, simultaneously liking that Preston was asking questions like he said, and disliking him spending the time doing it. After some time making decisions, she figured he would stop asking so many. “Farmers, craftsmen, traders, or just daytalers, I don’t care. We need the manpower, they need protection and rescue, and that’s really all there is.”

“Ah. Understood, Ma’am.” He smiled and snapped a small salute, as well as an apologetic smile. “Sorry to question your orders, Ma’am. I just wanted to know what the plan was. That’s all.”

“It’s fine, Preston. Really it is.” Even if it was kind of annoying, it was still a useful thing in its own way. She knew the risk of having absolutely obedient soldiers more than others might have thanks to her historical inclinations, after all. Forcing herself to focus, though, she waved a hand towards the exit and smiled, “Go, though. Me and the big guy will get in place a lot faster than you two will.”

“Got it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

With snappy salutes and red, humming weapons, the duo turned and jogged away. She figured they were running to get ahead of her, and try to match the rate her machine’s treads would allow. An unlikely plan to say the very least, at least based on the massive robot’s equally massive engine. But even a few minutes of time saved where they could launch their assault instead of instead of waiting around could save lives, especially if their suspicions held true.

And to that end...

“Sentry Bot, how’s your navigational systems?” She asked, pulling herself higher on its back to look at the side of its head, set a little bit into its chest.

“Internal map systems date to approximately two hundred and eleven years out of date.” The machine answered in its deep, rumbling voice. So much so that, as it answered, she felt the metal around its shoulders vibrate as it answered. “If no major landmark changes have occurred, navigational systems are functional. Be advised, your Pip-Boy may interface with my navigational systems via the control system.”

“Oh?”

“I have remote access to your navigational files.” It rumbled in answer, her bros furrowing before it added, almost as though it sensed her anxiety and wanted to assuage it, “I require your verbal consent to access files not previously granted entry to, General. Internal security regulations prevent my accessing nodes under my own authority.”

“Ah, well… That’s nice, then.” It was a convenient security comfort, at least. A robot going haywire and using her Pip-Boy was not on the list of things she needed on her plate now or… Well, preferably at all. Patting its shoulder regardless, and wondering if it could feel that, she offered a simple, “You have clearance to access my Pip-Boy’s navigational software. Take a minute to establish directional monitoring and modern map references.”

“Affirmative, General.” It rumbled, body shifting lower as it did. “Please wait one moment while I download your personal location settings.”

“Alright.” She nodded, “Let me know when you’re ready. We’re headed to Radar Station Olivia, but stopping up the road from it to prepare a… Liberation.”

To her surprise, ‘a moment’ became ‘several minutes’ without any warning. Presumably, the machine had a lot to process with as many alterations to the old Pip-Boy map she’d started with, and she doubted the machine had much internal power to process it. From here to Olivia, and then to Thickett and back to Concord and Sanctuary, there were a solid handful of them, and a Sentry Bot didn’t strike her as having a lot in the way of processing power to correct its own internal systems.

Having the Pip-Boy was probably the sole reason it could do it at all.

“Information processed, General.” The machine finally intoned, trundling forward so abruptly she squawked in surprise and nearly fell. She managed to recover, though, and rolled her eyes when the Sentry Bot rumbled a simple, almost amused sounding, “Be careful, General. Sentry units were not made to ride and you may be thrown.”

“Very funny.” She murmured, the last words she would say for a while. 

Watching the scenery pass her by riding by Senty-Back was a wholly unique experience, though not one she disliked. One hand wrapped around an old, partially rusted handle and the other holding her hat down and on, she had a good view of the late fall forest around the old, cracked road. An oddly beautiful scene, considering the mutant shrubbery and animals wandering through her vision. Odd, but beautiful nonetheless, and a sight she was thankful she was alive to see even if she would have preferred her Petunias.

And having Nate to help her tend them…

“Here’s fine to stop.” She ordered sharply, cutting herself off from thinking too hard about him. It took a short second, and several feet, for the robot to slow to an easy stop so she could disembark. Turning to it she explained, “As soon as we hear laser fire, you head off as fast as you can towards it. Eliminate all hostile contacts, and protect Preston and Stanley if they need it.”

“Affirmative, General.” The machine responded, setting its laser to spinning to keep it ready and rumbling forward a foot. “Awaiting commencement of combat operations. Status : Eager to serve.”

Drawing her pistol, she took a seat on an old, rusted car, and stared up at the satellite dish visible just over the hill. For a moment, she considered heading up it and letting the Sentry-Bot come up the proper path in its front. Such would turn it into an assault from all sides, with the Outcasts trapped and surrounded as well as off guard. But that would just make them fight harder, more desperately, to survive or make them suffer for winning. Or worse, hide in the building, where the robot wouldn’t be able to help.

Better to let them try and be run down by the robot, she supposed, turning and ordering, “Sentry Bot, amend your orders. If anyone attempts to flee, prioritize them. No prisoners, no escaping survivors. Understood?”

“Yes, General.” It answered in its heavy, synthesized voice. Standing straighter and, even if it was only imagined on her part, growing more agitated sounding, it added, “Designating enemy combatants as Communist interlocutors. Terminating with extreme prejudice.”

She rolled her eyes at that particular item of protocol, a relic of a bygone, particularly partisan world. Her career had always meant she saw through the propaganda of the day, even as she appreciated its dire need. Still, she made a note to have it removed. Or at least renamed. The protocol’s function was one that had useful functions back in the day, and those functions were just as useful for just the same reasons here and now.

A bit grey on the moral scale, she was sure, but then again she didn’t much care.

Distantly, she heard an echoing thrum of laser fire, and a second that followed it, and stood. Before she could even speak, the Sentry Bot was trundling off at only a moderate speed, its body pressed low to the ground but its arms spread wide, in what she imagined was a combat position for them. That or it simply wanted to conserve power and heat, ahead of using its weapons which put a strain on both of those items.

Either way, she managed to reach the base of the hill’s path just as the robot reached the top. The machine rolled to a stop and let out a static blast, as though to threaten them, before its arm starting to rock and the rapid laser sounds ripped through the air. Pausing only long enough to grab a couple deep breaths, she jogged up the hill and dre her ten-millimeter, stopping behind one of her robot’s gargantuan legs and raising the weapon.

Just in time to see the last man, his padded jacket smoldering and his arm laying on the ground behind him, fall in a bloody heap.

“All targets eliminated, General Nora. Adopting sentry position to await further orders.” The machine reported, rolling forward to park beside the door that led into the building. It paused there to open up and vent its heat, the steam rising rapidly before it closed up and intoned, “Heat dissipated. Overwatch functionality at maximum capabilities.”

The ‘fight’ such as it was had been brutally short, and over before the defenders had even really roused themselves to defend themselves. Three had died on the stairways leading down from the lookout room up top, their bodies smouldering and smoking, one missing an arm that had been burned and cut free by the powerful Musket blast. She spotted it several feet away, hanging over the railing at the corner where the steps descended to the ground. 

It had been swift and brutal, but still relatively clean. Those on the ground had not fared nearly as well, though.

The surviving Outcasts had understandably panicked and sought cover, knowing the direction of their laser armed assailants but not their location. Most had sought to go down the other side of the hill, seeking cover and likely to run around it in search of their attackers. The same hill that, by an accident of planning, the Sentry Bot had rolled up. As a result, the robot had been given a completely open, nearly point blank firing line on most of the Outcasts. 

And rusty, poorly fitted mail, padded leather and stitched gambesons did next to nothing against military-grade laser blasts.

Arms and legs had been burned off and sent flailing, bodies lit on fire with black smoke curling up from their still forms, and shields cracked and lit on fire like so much kindling. Their armor and weapons were as ruined as their bodies, one axe melted through by what had to have been a lucky burst of laser fire. The shafts of wooden spears had shattered under the weight of limbs and bodies, and what little else was left was equally unsalvageable. As macabre as it was, she found that the smell was all that really bothered her, but knew there wasn’t much to do about that.

“General!” Preston called out as he and Stanley approached, Muskets humming and red in their arms. The both of them gave the bodies a wide enough birth as they approached, and she moved to meet them. “This is… I mean, the Sentry Bot is useful.”

“Yeah.” That was underselling it, she thought. Still, the smell was bothering her and she could see the disquiet on the two men’s faces and ordered, “Let’s just clear the building and rescue the settlers. We’ll bury the bodies with their help, while we clear the place of scavenge.”

“With permission, Ma’am?” Stanley started, waiting until she prompted him with a nod to go on, turning and pointing the way they’d come, “There’s a dip in the rocks, there. And plenty of dry wood scattered around.”

“You burn Outcasts, not bury them, Ma’am.” Preston explained when she turned to him, seeking an explanation. “The Raider Tribes and even people like us, we don’t honor them with burial. It’s a tradition that we don’t waste the space in the ground on people that weren’t worth the space they took up on it.”

“Ah, I understand.” Strange traditions popped up in societies left to grow them, she knew. The ‘Tinker’ phenomenon was one and this was another. Setting aside her curiosity on why it had grown, she nodded and grunted, “Do as you like, Stanley, but make sure to check them for anything valuable they might have had. Sentry Bot, assist however he requests and establish a patrol pattern afterwards. Always validate your targeting, though, civilians we are rescuing will be coming out soon.”

“Acknowledged.” The machine rumbled, “Engaging specialized targeting permissions systems.”

That decided and settled, they left the man and the machine to handle the broken Outcasts’ bodies. Inside, the building was in shambles. Lights hung broken and sparking, furniture overturned, ransacked and piled in corners, and wires bare to the air. Like they’d been spliced into a dozen times or more, to hook in whatever had been needed at whatever time. Graffiti had been tagged all over the place as well, some faded and some more fresh looking, both spelling out messages she couldn’t for the life of her understand.

What she did understand, as they slowly made their way through the belly of the building, was that this place had been through hell.

“Did we kill all the Outcasts Stanley saw?” She asked, pausing to peer into a locked and well stocked room. She was looking forward to digging through that, to say the least. And hey, she saw some duffles that could carry the loot back, too.

“Yeah, or we’re pretty sure it was at least.” He nodded, face and chest lit up menacingly by the red of his Laser Musket. “Stanley watched ‘em for an hour or so before he came back. And they had beds outside in that little shack under the tower, too, so I doubt they slept in here.”

“Good. Means this is slightly less dumb.” She saw his brows furrow and took a breath, raising her voice and calling out as loudly as she could, her voice echoing off the walls and deeper into the ancient building, “I’m General Nora, of the Commonwealth Minutemen! One of my scouts saw the Outcasts here and suspected they had prisoners, so we came on a rescue mission! Is anyone there?”

The silence stretched on for a long couple of minutes before, finally, she heard a young woman call back, “Did you kill all of those raiders?”

“Yes, Ma’am, we did. Every last one of ‘em.” Preston called back in answer, giving her a look and then lowering his rifle. Walking towards one of the windows, he called again, “I’m at the window. You can see my uniform.”

“...We’re down in the main room.” The woman spoke quietly, sounding tired but relieved. As though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders, which… Well, she supposed it was a good show of ‘a uniform instills confidence’ in action. “I’ll get the others and we can meet you. No. Weapons.”

“Got it.” The man answered, turning to her and shrugging as he flicked his Musket off and let the red hum die. Seeing her confusion, he explained in time pressed brief, “This kinda thing happens all the time with captured civilians. They get scared, but you offer a little bit of trust and risk, and they’ll listen.”

“If you say so.” He was more experienced than this, she supposed, sighing and setting her pistol on an overturned cabinet. Giving it a last, longing look and noting how anxious she was already without a weapon in this world, she turned back to him and shrugged, “Lead the way then, Preston. This is your show.”

“Alright then.” He nodded, “Let’s get it done.”

Downstairs, the room was in just as bad shape as upstairs. A fusion generator hummed beside a door and explained the power sparking from exposed wires around the room. The generator itself was in solid shape and clean, more so than anywhere else she’d seen in the rundown old building thus far. Directly around it was just as clean and clear, aside from an old toolbox left open at the humming machine’s base. 

Beyond that, though, the state of the room was no better than the one above. Under the catwalk, laid around the old and surprisingly intact control terminals, were ratty mats and filthy fur covered bedding. The rest of the room was the same old, often rusted metal furniture, overturned and heaped into corners to stay out of the way. As upstairs, graffiti marred most of the walls, and it looked like a bomb had gone off.

In the middle of the room, exhausted and hungry looking, six people were waiting for them in the ragged scraps of clothes. More excuses for clothes than real clothes, she supposed, barely covering anything beyond the bare minimum. Most sported bruises and bandages as well, a testament to the Outcast’s tender loving care. But all looked wary and willful, still standing mostly straight and watching her with bare suspicion.

A good sign, to her mind.

A young woman with dark skin and high, clearly asian features stepped forward tentatively and asked, “Are you really with the Minutemen? I thought the Minutemen were gone.”

“They did break up, and we are Minute Men.” Preston answered, stepping forward just close enough to talk but not scare the skittish civilians. “But we’re rebuilding the Minutemen, starting from the ground up. There’s three of us. Four, if you count the Sentry Bot we found.”

“You have a Sentry Bot?” The woman asked, sounding flabbergasted.

“Yes, Ma’am, we do.” Preston nodded, hands on his hips and a smile on his lips. “We also have a Vault, where we’re rebuilding. Warm beds better than these, fresh food hot and ready, and plenty of protection for anyone here that wants it. Or an escort home, or as close as I can get you, for those that have one they want back to.”

“Those bastards torched our settlement.” The woman said, shaking her head sadly and sighing. Offering a hand, she smiled, “My name is Alexa Niu. And if you need a Tinker for your ‘Bot, you’ll be happy to know I specialize in robotics.”

“Then welcome to the Minutemen, Miss Niu.” Nora offered brightly, stepping forward and taking her hand to shake it. Stepping back, she nodded towards the others and spoke simply, “I’m General Nora. And I look forward to getting you safely back to our home and working with you. How about we all gather up what supplies they have around her and get under way?”

“Sounds like a plan, General.” The woman nodded, giving her friends a look that had them moving, gathering what they could find of use in the room. Turning back, she added a simple, “Give us a few minutes and we’ll have this place stripped of anything useful. Then we can get the hell out of here.”

“There’s a locked room upstairs with-”

“Already solved that problem for the Outcasts about a week ago, even if they didn’t know that.” The woman interrupted, breezing past her and beckoning her to follow. “I’ll get the door open and we can start stripping the room. Should be some good clothes to replace these ratty things with and some gear besides.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

I wanted a nice fight, but there was no universe that they didn’t employ intelligent tactics, and no universe a Sentry Bot didn’t simply massacre unprepared men in shoddy armor. Sorry, tried to compensate with neat character interactions.


	7. The First Meeting

XxX----XxX----XxX

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Miss Niu, it turned out, hadn’t been exaggerating in the east about her expertise in robotics. One look at the rusted arms of it, and the old, poorly hanging armor plating, and she'd been off. Using her Pip-Boy and a terminal hauled up out of the base, she’d started running through its programming like a rabbit through the grass, knowing exactly where to go to find the treats she was after. Soon enough, it was in a sleep state, and she and Preston were steadily removing and disassembling its heavy machine gun assembly. Most of its internal and external pieces were useless, either too dedicated to a single job centered around bullets or simply rusted beyond use. The trash was piled up around an old, ruined and almost half buried truck, long since broken down for its own parts.

Whatever was useful - bolts, sockets, whatever could be pried free and de-rusted well enough to pass inspection and so on - was toted into the little surface building that led into the old array. A couple barrels and some drawers, with belts and ropes strapped around them to make pseudo-packs to more easily carry them, waited to be filled. By those and other pieces of various scrap the Tinker, or more experienced Wastelanders under her, deemed worthwhile enough to carry.

And all she could do was watch, too inexperienced to do anything but get in the way.

“When I get back.” She decided, leaning against the corner of the doorway and watching them go about their work. “I’ll have Sturges teach me enough to help out with this, so I won’t be in the way.”.

“General.” Preston’s voice tugged her out of her musings, the man approaching with the grease covered but happier looking Tinker behind him. Smiling, the man gestured past her at the growing pile, “Lotta loot here, Ma’am. More than we thought there’d be, honestly, but some of the settlers said that a lot of it’s from their settlement.”

“Yeah, tell me about it, Preston.” She gave it a look and smirked. It lay in a heap, mounded up in the corner by the door like some kind of warlord’s stash out of Grognak the Barbarian. She even saw what she knew to be a large gear, but her mind made into a gnarled metal crown for her own amusement, and chuckled at the childish image. Turning back to him, though, she asked, “What do you think about it, though?”

“It’s a good problem to have, General.” He preambled, leaning on the head of his quiet Musket comfortably and looking it over. With a resigned shrug, he turned back to her, “It’ll take a few trips to carry things like this with what we have. But our Tinker here had an idea, if we want to spend a couple more days out here.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you’re here, Miss Niu?” 

“Well, yeah. But, uh, here. I’m done rerouting command programming, so you can have this back.” She answered, handing over the Pip-Boy with a small smile. While Nora set about strapping it back on her arm, more for ease of carrying than anything else, the woman explained. “A Sentry Bot’s engine is designed to haul its own tonnage, plus half that again, in case components become damaged in the field and mobility is made more difficult.”

“Right.” She nodded, “And?”

“Well, while I was working we ripped off a lot of armor and components. It’s while gun-side, for one.” Nora gave it a look and, sure enough, the shoulder on one side and everything attached to it had been removed, leaving it lopsided looking. “I also removed the hanging flak-catchers, over the wheels, since they were so rusted that they couldn’t move. Which was hindering its mobility, and adding weight it doesn’t need, given the… Lack of artillery to be dealt with nowadays. Honestly, even if they’d been in better shape, I might have ripped them off for that reason on its own.”

“Fair points all around, yeah.” What good was anti-explosive armor technology against pikes and arrows? Even lasers wouldn’t be aimed at the admittedly rather vulnerable looking wheels regardless. Turning her eyes back on the woman she raised a brow and asked, “So what’s the idea that gives you?”

“Well, with all that off, it’s… Well, it’s probably down a quarter of is running weight.” And easily a quarter, Nora could agree, just by looking at the large cannon that had been removed. Along with the arm itself, of course. Pursing her lips with a little ‘tsk’ sound, she smiled sourly and added, “And there’s a, you know... Vertibird hull over the ridge… Wheels and all, though the hull’s not in great shape, and the rotors are ruined. Rip the rotors off, cut the tail off, and we can load it up with the scrap to haul back.”

“Knock out the windshields and we can ride it, too.” Preston added helpfully, smiling either at the thought of easier travel or the big laser it sported. Either way, she could see a reason to smile about it. “More comfortable than walking and big plus is, it makes scavenging faster and more effective. Ride out on it, load it up, trundle on back. You and me and we can make it work damn nice.”

She could already imagine it and how needed it would be. Them rolling out in the seats, steerin the robot with her Pip-Boy. Then loading it up with loot and either climbing into the seats to ride back, or walking if the score was that damn good. At which point, she wouldn’t mind the walking so much. It was a good picture and with the Vault, they could power the machine. And with the machine, few would dare to try and raid them while they were out. Or when they were at the Vault, for that matter.

Heavy rotary lasers tended to discourage that kind of behavior, she was comfortable guessing.

“Good idea, but… Not here. Too in the open, too indefensible.” She decided, nodding and pushing off the wall with a sigh. Looking at the pile of loot, she grimaced and sighed again, already knowing how badly their backs were going to be. Finally she ordered, “Load up what we and the bot can carry as we are. We head back to the scrapyard, then haul the Vertibird in and get to work.”

“We’ll be done scrapping down the place in about an hour or-”

“No.” She cut the other woman off, sharp enough to earn a frightened ‘eep’ and flinch from the woman. Feeling bad, but unable to do anything about it, she sighed and pushed on, “We can’t afford to wait out here in the open. We load up what we can carry and base out of the scrapyard. Once the ‘Bot is ready we can come back for the rest. Get it in one last go and head back to Sanctuary.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The two answered in the same moment, Preston adding, “I’ll get the men moving, General. Miss Alexa, you mind starting on loading up the Sentry Bot?”

“Sure, General.” The woman nodded, stepping past her and stooping to grab some of the ropes and a few full shelves of loot to take with her. 

At Preston’s call, the other settlers began to gather, quiet and tired but more than willing to work. Drawers from desks, filing cabinets and tool shelves, as well as crammed to bursting duffles and leather bags and satchels, all were checked and loaded onto backs and chests. It took around an hour to secure everything, as well as check to make sure the better loot - screws, nails, good glue, electronics and wiring and the like - as well as whatever food and water they had found, and then load it up on themselves and the Sentry Bot.

She almost laughed when it trundled up, looking like the torso of a Sentry Bot stuck onto a somehow rolling bound on shelves and trash. It moved slowly and carefully, of course, weighed down by the mass of it. But it moved surely as well, with Alexa watching all the while, bare of any weight so she could bend and twist to adjust the robot’s. No one judged her, though there were a few jealous eyes.

Together, and looking dangerously like a wild, wandering herd of trash, they left. They had to follow the road for their burdens, the surface mostly flatter and more easily managed. The trip itself took another hour and change, the burdens slowing them and requiring them to occasionally stop to retrieve something that had fallen. Which always turned into a comical dance since they couldn’t bend, instead trying to squat and reach for it until Alexa wandered over and got it for them. Luckily, there were no threats along the way, and they got to the scrapyard in relative safety. 

Groaning, sweaty and with aching backs, their group filed into the scrapyard and pulled their scrap-packs off. Some had the mind about them to set their things down gently, but some didn’t, dropping shelves and their contents in the corner off to the right of the door. The food was hauled into the building, though, for safer keeping than could be hoped for outside. Soon, the fire was crackling, food was boiling in it, and their number had gathered around to sit and rest as the sun began to set. Outside, the robot trundled by while they all sat to eat, warmed and lit up by the fire and with the walls to shelter them from the breeze outside.

All except for one person, she realized quickly, looking around and not seeing Preston’s face. And she knew exactly where to look for the soldier, too. He was predictable in the same way Nate had always been, once he came back from deployment.

“General.” The man grunted in greeting when she found him, sitting on a fallen tree beside the road outside, musket humming and eyes roving the flats on the other side of the road. Anticipating her questions, he went on, “Flats are clear, Ma’am. Just keeping watch while everyone eats and gets some rest.”

“Because you don’t need food, right, genius?” She grunted shortly and hotly, still sore from the walk back and somewhat aggravated that the man had made her walk out here to give him food. It was petty, of course, but she was sore enough not to care. Instead of apologizing when he gave her a surprised, affronted look, she shoved a steaming bowl in his face and plopped down beside him. “Gimme your rifle, eat your food.”

“But you don’t even-”

“You point at their chests and click, not that hard.” She purposefully over-simplified and chuckled, and the man did so in response. He sighed and handed the weapon over, letting her take over when she held the weapon comfortably over her chest like Nate always had and he seemed satisfied. Taking a bite he asked, “You ate already, right, General?”

“That’s a question coming from you…” He paused in his eating, though, to give her a look and she sighed amusedly. “Yes, person who didn’t eat until now. I already ate, then I noticed you missing and came to feed your sorry hide.”

“Ah, well… Yeah. That’s… You know, good.” He didn’t know what to say to that, it seemed. Instead he simply put his focus on eating his meal. 

And, with an amused smile, she noticed he did so ravenously. The poor fool must have been starving, but thought nothing of being hungry and instead ignored it so others could eat first. Just like Nate would have done, the self-sacrificial fool…

“You have to take care of yourself too, you know, Preston.” She said, parroting words she’d shared with her husband a long time ago under very different circumstances. The words were the same, though. “We have to do this together, you and I. I can’t make it work all by myself, and you can’t risk putting it on me.”

“You’re right, General.” The man sighed, running his spoon around the edge of his bowl and smiling apologetically. “Didn’t think I was that hungry, honestly.”

“Mhm, I bet you didn’t.” Just like Nate. Maybe all soldiers got like that? She couldn’t say, really, since she’d exactly seen a whole lot of them in their element. Only Nate, who’d pulled long nights and early mornings when Shaun had been born, and now Preston. “You burn a candle at both ends and it burns out faster, Preston. Just keep it in mind, alright?”

“Yes, General.” His answer was short. Clipped, in the way military men responded to their superiors. But the smile that spread across his face spoke of something lighter, more familiar. And after a moment he added, “Just forgot for a minute, that’s all. Happens to the best of us, one time or another. Appreciate the concern.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” She nodded, standing and taking his empty bowl when he offered it. With a tip of her hat - she’d always wanted to do that - she turned to leave and called back, “I’m turning in for the night. Remember to tag out of watch at some point!”

“Yes, General!” He called back, a smile in his voice, “And I’ll let Stanley know you told me to make him take second watch!”

Laughing, she shook her head and left the man to his own devices. At least now he had a full belly and a better mood. Nate had always said both of those were just as important as a full magazine, and she was inclined to believe him. Between the three of them, Preston included for obvious reasons, he was the one with the longer military career. And call it bias, but she believed that the military of her age knew better.

Then again, nuclear apocalypse…

Oh well, bias it was, she supposed. At the very least that was a good enough conclusion for her to sleep the day off. And besides, Preston was alright, they’d rescued some innocent people like the big damn heroes they were supposed to be, and they’d hauled in a lot of good loot. Not to mention their heavily armor Sentry Bot, which was going to be a damn blessing she was sure. 

“General!” It felt like hers eyes had only just closed but when she shot up on the cot, there was daylight outside. And Preston in the door, blocking it and casting her in shade. “Trouble, General. We need you up and out front, Ma’am.”

“Trouble…?” The prompt was evident as she stood, rapidly tugging her overcoat on over the light armor she wore underneath it. 

“Raiders, Ma’am.” She swore and he nodded, stepping in and picking up her handgun to hand it to her, holster strap and all. She thanked him with a nod and pulled her belt tight so she could strap the weapon on while he explained. “Not Outcast, though. They’re Assembly Raiders, and they say they’re here to talk.”

“They say they are?”

“Approached Stanley on watch, Ma’am.” He explained, waving a hand at the door as he stepped aside, so that she could leave when she was ready. Instead of leaving, though, she turned and cocked he rhead back, silently asking for more information. “Out in the open, swords on their waists instead of in their hands. I don’t think they’re here for a fight. They’re a war party, though. Around a dozen in good gear.”

“Tch.” Figures nothing could come easy. Her luck always had been right in the gutter, after all. Meeting Nate notwithstanding, of course. But the Raiders had come out in the open instead of attacking them, so… “Preston, invite some representatives of theirs into the camp. Give them food and something to drink.”

“Ma’am?”

“They came to talk and we can’t risk open war with the Assembly. Not right now. We’re too vulnerable, too low in numbers and backed into the corner, to fight them even if we want to.” And if it was the case that negotiation and diplomacy were the way to protect their little slice of post-apocalyptia, then she’d negotiate and be diplomatic. Gift horse, mouth, as Nate would so often say. “Bring him in, he’s by himself if they try anything. And we can always say we were not the ones that broke truce.”

“If anyone even cares…” Preston murmured, shaking his head. “On their side or anyone else’s.”

“History will, though.” And even if Preston didn’t respect the eyes of history, she most certainly did. “People remember their history. Always. Eventually, these people would have them ignoring it come back to bite them right in the ass.”

“Well… Orders are orders, and yours have been good so far.” He finally shrugged and turned, adding over his shoulder, “I’ll buy you five minutes to gather your wits and get properly awake, Ma’am.”

She silently thanked him and sat on the edge of her bed, pinching the bridge of her nose and willing herself to a more conscious state. Which was of course more easily said - or rather willed in this instance - than actually done. She spotted a Nuka Cola on the desk nearby and murmured a thanks to Preston, cracking it and tossing it back like a freshman in a frat house could only dream of doing. She felt the concentrated caffeine, ancient no doubt but still effective, hit her inside a few seconds and groaned.

Well, at least she was awake now, even if the idea of drinking two hundred year old, radiation filled soda didn’t quite appeal to her.

Outside, her men were stood to one side of the fire, with their backs to the river. Or rather, their backs to the settlers behind them, and the wall that faced the river behind those. An open seat had been left for her, with Preston to one side of it and the Sentry Bot on the other. Both were obviously armed and while Preston paced a small space barely two feet wide, the robot’s stillness was somehow more foreboding. The slowly spinning rotary laser might have been the source of that, she supposed.

Heavy weapons were frightening, it turned out. Who knew?

Across from them were three raiders, two men and a woman, the latter of whom was sitting on the stool left aside for her. All of them wore similar armor and sported similar weapons. Chainmail with leather greaves and forearm guards, with thick wool looking cloaks and mantles that ended at the trailing skirt of the mail shirt,under which she saw loose fitting leather pants. A leather belt cinched around their waists to hold the fitted mail taught and still. A long knife rested in a sheath on each of their left hips, with a well made looking handaxe behind it, hung in their belts and gleaming in the morning sun. Heavy, metal reinforced round shields rested on the ground, their rims pressing into the soft mud and hands resting atop them. The two men wore simple padded cloth helmets like aketon and had their hoods drawn up.

They looked for all the world like artist renditions she’d seen of Norse warriors from the Roman era, though not quite. No spears, for one. The Norse had been fond of those. And no helmets either.

“We’re hunters.” The woman grunted when she presumably spent too long looking them over and she felt a need to explain. Her hair had been cut short or bound back, but her face was bare. Tanned skin, with a scar over one cheek and sharp, oddly gray eyes. “Men, animals, whatever we’re told to.”

“What brought you out here then?” She asked, taking the seat across from her and making a show of having her pistol, but keeping her hands free of it. She wouldn’t be the one to make any kind of move, or even seem to.

“Hunting Outcasts.” She answered shortly, smiling thinly when Nora blinked in surprise and she heard the settlers shift anxiously. “That’s what I thought. You and yours took ‘em out then?”

“Yeah, we did.” No use trying to hide it. If they were after them then they’d know the Outcasts had been cleared. Between that and the pile of scrap, lying would quite literally only piss them off. And for no gain that she could think of. Sighing, she leaned back in her seat and elaborated, “We found out they had settlers locked up. And they’re close to our home, too. If they hit one settlement they’d hit two, and we had a certain advantage in an attack.”

“So you live near here then.” Nora swore internally and grimaced, but the other woman shrugged it off. “Woulda found your settlement sooner or later. Don’t stress it Better us on good terms than some amped up scavver lookin’ for a score. Or a fight.”

“I mean, you aren’t wrong.” It was still a mistake, though, and one she was kicking herself for. And would be kicking herself for for a while, she was willing to wager. “Long and short yeah, we took them out. The Minutemen don’t stand for people like that raiding places and hurting innocent people.”

“Hm.” The woman’s eyes flicked over their uniforms and she leaned back, resting her hands on her thighs. “So you are back, then. Interesting.”

“We are, yeah. And we don’t tolerate indiscriminately raiding and targeting people. Including Tinkers.” And though this wasn’t how she’d envisioned their comeback being brought to light, it was better to be open about it. At least if she wanted to play the diplomat here and get their names out, spreading among the masses. “Is that going to be a problem with the Assembly?”

“Should it?”

“I don’t know.” Nora answered honestly, shrugging and folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t know how your people do things. I only know how mine do.”

“It won’t be a problem, General.” She grunted, gesturing with a hand at her uniform and smirking. Giving the machine a look she whistled and clicked her tongue. “I don’t look forward to ever needing to fight that.”

“Is that particularly likely?” She asked, painfully obvious about fishing for information but not caring that she was. She needed to know, and any digging would have seemed obvious. Smiling she added, jokingly, “Asking for a friend.”

“I go where I’m told to and fight who I’m told to.” She gave the machine another look and stood, rolling her shoulders and hefting her shield. Giving their group a small, respectful nod, the woman grunted, “You might’ve saved some of my men’s lives, taking out that camp. I’ll make sure the Assembly knows it.”

“Thank you.” She rose too and offered a hand and a smile, returning the nod. “Here’s hoping you don’t have to fight my robot in the near future, then. Hm?”

For the first time, the woman chuckled, low and quiet. Shaking her head, the woman took hers and shook it, smiling thinly but warmly. “Aye, let’s hope I don’t, then. Enjoy your loot and…” She gave a look to the anxious settlers, who no doubt would have ended up as Assembly slaves or warrior, and snorted, “Recruits. I’ll push the Assembly to open talks when we find your home.”

Better than a threat…

“Thank you.” She smiled, letting her go and stepping back, cocking a hip and resting her hand on it. In a clear invitation to leave, she finished with a smal, “Safe travels out there. Concord should be clear of Deathclaws, in case you didn’t hear.”

Another snort as the woman turned to leave, then, and a wry, “Yeah, so I’ve heard. And safe travels to you and yours as well, General.”

Silent, aside from the shifting of metal and creaking of leather, the three left out the front. A call went out and more feet were heard walking away, back down the road and towards Concord way. They waited in silence until it faded, hands on their weapons and ears perked for sound. When nothing happened for several quiet, tense minutes, they collectively relaxed and she turned to Preston and, behind him, Alexa the Tinker.

“Get the Vertibird and get to work kitting it out. As fast as possible.” The woman nodded and snapped a ‘yep’ out instantly, turning to call out people to help her. Several shot Nora unsure looks and she nodded, waving for them to do as told. To Preston and the robot, she ordered, “Get on a patrol route and keep it tight. Set the robot on a longer one for here and the Vertibird, escorting the workers. I’ll leave the postings proper to you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded, turning to the machine and jerking his head towards the door. “You heard the lady, Tin Man. Roll out.”

The machine warbled an affirmative and trundled around them and away to begin its route. Preston followed, barking orders while she fell into her seat and sighed. There went the easy win, she supposed… They just needed to get the loot home, and then they could start the real preparations for whatever came next.

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	8. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained - Part I

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With the departure of the Assembly hunters, and them leaving with empty hands, the survivors were eager to leave. A few well placed words, and a reminder that all of the firepower would not be leaving with them until the robot was ready to go, quickly turned them from flight to work. With Stanley and Nora herself for guards, and Preston watching the road and base, their makeshift crew moved to collect the Vertibird with sacks full of makeshift ropes, shovels and the like that they might need.

First they set to work removing what they didn’t need that was currently attached to the partially buried machine. Fist on the agenda was the tail itself, wholly useless and completely buried, with a harsh bend at the connection between the tail and chassis, with old and rusted wires hanging dead and loose. Like a ship’s anchor, trapping it in the dirt that had accumulated over years. Alexa produced an ancient set of screwdrivers and wrenches and, inside a few minutes, gave a shout of ‘Make way!’ The settlers scrambled back as the hold the tail had on it was finally fully released, and the rest fell forward and down hard enough that the old, dust laden glass shook in its frames and its doors rolled in their rollers. 

Or shook and rolled as much as they could, really, choked out by centuries of dust, red leafed vines and dirt.

While Alexa and another settler set to work removing the useless, and kind of unnecessary, glass the rest worked on cleaning the Vertibird. Rags, cloth scraps, buckets of water toted up from the lake, knives to cut away the thin vines and tools to dig the dirt out of hard to reach spots in the door and wheels, all were set to work in a flurry of orders and busy hands. When they were done, the doors could shut, the wheels could turn freely and with the windows gone, you could see out of the Vertibird easily.

That ended the easy jobs, though, for the most part.

While Alexa climbed up on top of the ancient war machine, she set half the settlers to digging up and then stripping the tail for anything worthwhile. While they did that, mostly earning wiring and gears they could salvage and use, she disassembled the top assembly on either of the wings. Most of the rotors were broken and useless, and those were discarded in the heap of ruined wires, gears, metal plates and glass piling up beside the craft. The wings themselves stayed, though, and Alexa explained breezily enough while she sealed up the holes left behind by the ruined assembly.

“Cloth, hide, whatever kinda curtains you can name ringing it and you would have a decent shelter for the scavengers to rest in.” She shrugged, scratching at her cheek and smearing oil across her cheek. Handing a pouch of tools off to a settler below her so she could climb down, she added, “And if the scrap we’re bringing back is sensitive, to eyes or rain it doesn’t matter, then it can cover that up too.”

“Ah.” It made sense, though she wasn’t sure where they’d get the curtains. 

“Yeah, I’ll rig it up and do a deep weight lightening when we get back to base.” She nodded, sitting on the wing and then dropping to the ground with a grunt. Standing and sighing, she finished, “Less weight means more speed on the rig itself, since keeping under the ‘Bot’s weight limit will be far easier without useless, broken flight systems and wires that don’t do anything. Or whatever else.”

“Yeah, I got it.” The sense was obvious, really. Like a race car having one seat that weighed barely twenty pounds ripped out for the most minute weight differential. Eager to both get moving and get their loot out of a place that was simultaneously under guarded and known to be where the loot was, she asked, “How much longer have we got?”

“An hour.” She answered, turning and pointing with a finger that had been turned black for oil at the controls. “Need to rip out the consoles, seal up the bottom of the cockpit window with some cloth, we can use some sacks for that, to keep shit from falling out. Shouldn’t take stupid long, and when your robot gets here, we just trus it together with some ropes and chains.”

“Ropes and chains?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, and then shrugged. “I mean, not the most advanced way of doing it, but just a slow roll back to home? It’ll do. I can make a better connection between the two later. Or at least a more covered, better protected and looking, one.”

“I don’t think looks really matter…”

“To you and me? Maybe not.” She shrugged and smiled knowingly, sighing and taking a step forward to get to work. As a last, parting word, one foot on the edge of the open Vertibird compartment and a hand fishing for tools, she added, “We only trusted you lot because you looked the part in your uniforms. What does history say about that?”

“History?”

“Preston said that you were a massive history buff.” She shrugged, stepping up and into the back of the Vertibird without another word, quickly busying herself and making it clear she didn’t have any more time for talking.

The question was a simple one, but the answer certainly wasn’t. Or rather, it wasn’t a short answer, since it was kind of painfully simple, really. Something looking good could instill confidence, whether the attachments and better looking aspects of a design were functional or not, if something important looked good. A psychological phenomenon akin to a placebo effect, where seeing something important clean, crisp and well made could comfort people in the worst of times. In other words, if things were bad, them rolling up in what looked like a scrap heap might do little to nothing to comfort them. 

But them rolling up in a laser toting tank, armored and painted in Minuteman colors, could rally a population.

“I guess I should look into getting some paint then.” She murmured with a sigh, turning back to keeping the guard while the settlers worked. 

Work inside came and went swiftly, most of the wiring that crossed it ripped out and tossed into a barrel outside to be repurposed while the robot trundled over and settled in where the tail of the craft had once been. With the wiring and control panel removed, the interior plates were replaced carefully, and then the settlers were split up again. Some began loading up what scrap had been extracted and heaped into barrels and crates into the Vertibird, while the rest set to digging out whatever lashings they could. 

Cords of hide, ropes made of what looked like leaves, vines and other plant fibers spindled into string and twined together and even proper chains were wrapped around the handles of the robot’s legs. Wherever was possible without getting in the way of and hindng the robot’s turning radius, they were strapped to its back and chest, too. Then they were looped through holes Alexa had made herself using some of the tools she’d brought, twining them expertly, like she’d done exactly this a hundred times.

The result was a somewhat weird looking kind of spider’s web connecting the backs of the two machines together. Ropes, cords and the like wrapping around each other to connect them securely.

“Roll forward a foot!” Alexa ordered before the Sentry Bot whirred, trundling forward obediently. The Vertibird was tugged along, held firm and straight with barely any give to either side as the machine moved under further testing commands. When she ordered it to turn and fire on a rock off to its side, it did so without trouble, and the woman smiled, raising a fist and cheering, “It works!”

The resultant cheer that sounded with the excited proclamation had her chuckling and smiling, infected by the good mood. Still jubilant, they loaded up the scrap to hand and moved off to load up the scrap still waiting at the Scrapyard. Then, with a Vertibird full of valuable scrap and a glut of new recruits, they turned and finally headed for home.

Or, most appropriately, for Sanctuary. 

Since the flying machine had two wheels in the back and only one in the front, they’d rigged it up facing backwards for more central stability. And, according to Preston, because those riding in it could watch their rear as they went. And if they were attacked, they’d have a mobile platform to fire from. The robot could just park, and they’d have almost every approach covered just from those inside the scavenging rig itself. With the doors sealed from the inside, anyone short of Power Armored infantry would have to try and get in through the cockpit windows.

And with two or three scavengers armed with Muskets, that wasn’t a wise decision.

Regardless, it meant that there was space to sit, and she was the General. And if she was going to abuse her position for privilege, not walking back was certainly a more innocent way to do it. With her legs propped up on the frame of the window, she reclined and watched their surroundings recede while their little caravan made its way, the Settlers walking under the wings of the airship where they felt the safest. Behind her, scrap banged, clanged and jingled in the way that only a pile of trash really could. In front of her, though, Preston walked with a small smirk on his face.

“What’s got you smiling so much, Preston?” She finally asked, breaking the silence and offering him a smile so he knew she was joking.

“Not a thing, General. Wasn’t thinking about how comfortable you look up in that nice seat at all, so Ma’am.” He lied, shaking his head and watching a thicket of brush and trees closely and warily as they passed it. Even talking idly, the man was alert, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. 

A ‘Minute Man’ to the bone. 

“You’re free to ask for a turn, or make a space in the hold.” She suggested, waving at the seat beside her, which was currently stacked high with boxes and shelves of junk. “Front seats are kinda full, though, unless you wanna do some rearranging. And don’t tell anyone, but I think the General won’t let you steal my seat.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, “And how do you know that exactly? Someone leaking intel?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll never tell.” She chuckled, tipping her hat forward when they began trundling down a hill and the sun got into her eyes.

“You’re in a good mood, General.” He pointed out as they went, the woman barely able to meet his eyes for the glowing bastard the sun was being at the moment. Chuckling at the face she must have been making for it, he added, “Don’t worry, we’re rounding a hill in a minute and the sun’ll be out of your eyes.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.” She murmured, flipping the astral body the bird and sighing. 

“I’ll say it again.” Preston chuckled, shaking his head at her really rather childish antics. And they were rather childish, she knew. But then, who was going to judge her for it? “You’re in a really good mood today, General. Better than you have been for all I’ve known you, at the very least.”

“Yeah, just… You know. Woke up in a better mood, and we’ve had a run of good luck.” Plus, the rest of her time had been spent with broken bones, or dealing with having just lost literally everything. But she didn’t point out either, for fear of dragging down the mood or just dredging up what she was already past. Instead, she turned back to work, as she always did when her thoughts turned to the things she wanted left alone, “When we get back, we need to sit down and have a long conversation about enforcing our position, Preston.”

“I agree.” He nodded, “And not disagreeing or arguing, here, but can I ask why you came to that decision?”

“The Assembly know we exist.” She shrugged like that was all the reason in the world to get themselves set up properly, with a plan for their way forward. And to her, it largely was. Still, “I don’t want to get caught out, and aside from Sanctuary and the Vault, we don’t have any plans. Hell, we don’t really have any plans for Sanctuary itself. Just the Vault.”

“I mean, you aren’t wrong, Ma’am…” After a second he sighed, grunted ‘I’m comin’ in’, and took two long steps out of her field of vision. Behind her, she heard the door slide open and then slam shut. A second later, Preston joined her, kneeling on the floor between and behind the seats instead of clearing one off.

“What-”

“You wanted a meeting, Ma’am, but seeing as I’m the only man you have with any authority…” The woman turned to look at him and he shrugged, Laser Musket leaned against a crate beside the door and behind him. Tipping his hat up with a finger he smiled almost roguishly, “So may as well get it out of the way while we ride, no? Since you’d just be meeting with me anyway.”

“That’s another thing we need to do…”

“Hm?”

“We need to start rebuilding our command chain.” She explained simply, sighing when the man simply raised an eyebrow in question and gestured for her to elaborate. Pursing her lips for a minute to steal time to think, she started to explain. “Throughout history, the greatest nations and empires were founded upon a solid infrastructure of command designations and duty relegation. Offices for military officers to manage duties and supplies, political offices dedicated to managing everything from districts to cities and counties, the like.”

“The Minute Men always had a direct line to the General.” Preston pointed out, thinking aloud more than arguing with her. “Regiments had their own officers who managed where they responded and to what, and supplies and recruiting too, but that was as far as ‘breaking up the command chain’ went. In the end…”

“Preston?” She asked after he was quiet for a long minute, face flat and eyes foggy. Like he’d lost the plot and his focus, and gotten mired in a memory instead. He blinked when she said his name, though, and she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just… Got lost in thought.” He sighed and turned around, sitting on the floor with his back to her, resting on the console between the seats. “At Quincy, we lost everything because other regiment’s officers decided not to help. The colonel, my regimental leader, rallied us but… We were barely twenty men, and Qunicy had only that to match, against the Gunners.”

“The Gunners?”

“Big bad bastards, from way south in Boston.” He answered simply, “No one knows how, but they have some guns to ‘em. Not man,” he added when he saw her wide eyes, leaning over him a bit to meet his eyes, “but one or two mixed into a unit of a dozen men can rip apart a formation. And with so few men, we couldn’t skirmish against their hundred.”

“It was a massacre.” She murmured, turning back around in her seat when he nodded and sighing, laying back against the old seat. “How’d you get out?”

“We, my squad I mean, were ordered to take the civilians and run.” He shrugged simply with his answer. “Colonel Hollis, some militia volunteers, and a handful of riflemen held their ground to buy us time. We took what we could, who we could too, and ran. I don’t know what happened after that, but the Colonel would have gone down fighting that traitor bastard rather than surrender.”

“Traitor?”

“Clint. Ex-Minute Man, joined the Gunners.” Preston’s voice carried anger with it, deep and thoroughly seated. With a sigh, he forced it away and finished his almost certainly abbreviated recounting of events. “Colonel Hollis was the last thing really holding us together. But with Hollis dead, the Minutemen finally just... Fell apart. Regiments drifted away and broke up, and over time I heard stories of a couple more being wiped out. The rest just… Vanished.”

“I see.” A lack of cohesion and too much independence had left them vulnerable, and so they’d fallen to pieces. Something that, frankly, was an eventuality rather than a possibility with so little holding them together. 

Not that she would tell Preston that, she knew it would offer no comfort at all.

“All the more reason to establish a proper organizational structure, then.” One that would preclude any chance of the Minutemen falling to pieces for their lack of cohesiveness. First and foremost to that, though, “First, we need to refine how the Minutemen hold ground. Rather than simply supporting independent settlements, we need our own settlements. Our own farms, factories, scavenging cities, the works.”

“We only ever had a few.” Preston nodded, seeing her point. Or seeming to, at least, from the way he said it. “We build our own, though… Close enough to keep reinforced, and well supplied.”

“Over time, it will be a nation unto itself.” A small and probably vulnerable one, she was sure, but a nation nonetheless. And a nation would be able to help her make the army that would help her find her son. And the bastard of a man that took him, of course, who would not be happy to see her. “Once we have enough strength, we can start making changes to the Commonwealth. But for now, we need to get our organizational structure set up properly.”

“I’m assuming you have ideas, Ma’am?”

“Yes.” She smiled, “I very much do.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

A few more hours passed before they got to Sanctuary, the woman opting not to ride across the rickety, ancient wooden bridge when they got there. Instead, she walked with the settlers, who began talking more excitedly now that they were ‘home’. A word that some of them seemed hesitant to use, but one she heard bandied about regardless, tugging a smile to her lips as they walked ahead of her. Two of them were already stooped in the dirt, using their fingers to dig it up and chattering animatedly about the soil and what sorts of crops would be best for it with water so nearby.

She didn’t know the first thing about ‘tato farming’ or ‘razorgain milling’, though, so she left them to it.

Instead, she wandered on with those settlers who were more eager to see the Vault than the land surrounding it. Which, to her surprise, turned out to only be around half of them. The more tired looking half of her rescues that was. Aside from Alexa herself, who walked beside the robot and watched it so closely and so focused that she reminded her of a mother hawk. Looking for hitches, or maybe even thinking of ways to upgrade it now that she had a safe base to work in and an advanced, mostly functioning robot, she figured.

Tinkers seemed the kind to laser focus like that, from what she’d seen of Sturges.

“General Nora!” She heard the familiar, tired voice and called the walking group to a halt just ahead of the bend towards the smaller bridge that led up to the Vault. The voice came from one of the houses flanking the little dip that led to it and, after a moment, Sturges came stumbling out of the door, sliding a saw into his belt and beaming a smile. “Good to see you, Ma’am! I’d ask how things went but,” he gestured with a wave at the settlers and, with two raised eyebrows, the Sentry Bot, “I think I know exactly how it went.”

“It went well, Sturges.” She chuckled, “How have things gone here?”

“Great!” He smiled, waving a hand up towards the Vault where she’d left him working on a laundry list of little things. “The Vault is finished. Cleaned the rooms out, repaired the appliances and what not, set up the barracks, the works. Mama Murphy and the Longs are up there counting what we’ve already gathered up, taking inventory.”

“Well,” Preston banged a hand against the side of the Vertibird, “We got a lot more good quality inventory.”

“And more hands.” Miss Niu said quickly, gesturing to the scattered settlers and then herself. “Mostly, we’re farmers, but hands are hands right?” She blinked, then, as if something had only just occurred to her and then held out a hand, “I’m, um, Tinker Alexa Niu, by the way.”

“No kidding?” The man didn’t even bother trying to wipe his hands on his cover-alls, instead taking hers, grease and dirt and all, and giving it a firm shake. Beaming approvingly at something she couldn’t understand, he let her go and started to ramble in his very Sturges way. “Gotta say, it’ll be damn fine having another educated hand around here. Normies try, you know, but... Nothin’ against normal Settlers but, you know, they ain’t techs like us.”

The last part seemed to be addressed to her and Preston, and the soldier chuckled for it, answering, “Yeah, no, we get it.”

“Yeah, we do. Don’t worry about it.” She agreed, nodding and then taking a breath, “Sturges, Miss Niu, Preston, I need you to get everyone together. I have an announcement and a plan to set out for us here.”

“That sounds ominous…”

“Just do it.” She laughed, shaking her head while the Tinker threw his hands up in mock surrender, turning to trot up to the Vault and get the three people together. 

Preston turned to do the same, shouting for the settlers to gather up with the more meek woman behind him, apparently uncomfortable with being the center of attention. At least unless a robot was concerned, she supposed. Which honestly made sense, since she doubted the Outcasts had been nice to her or done anything but make her want to stand out less. Also, as a fellow nerd, she knew they tended not to like large crowds staring at them.

Not that she had much choice on that front…

Regardless of however she felt about public speaking, or nearly thirty eyes staring at her, inside twenty minutes their little group had been gathered at the base of the hill that led up to the Vault. With her back to where the fence-gate had once been, and standing over them all for the incline, she at least felt like a general ought to. Her uniform was dirty, she herself was tired, and her title currently made her the leader of two men and a robot…

But she looked the part, at least, and looking the part was half the battle.

“For a while, we’ve been surviving.” She started, hands clasped behind her back in her best impression of an officer. One based on books, paintings and videos more than anything else, but one she hoped would do the job regardless. “But that’s all we’ve been doing. Surviving. Scraping by on forage, hunting and whatever else we could scrounge together. Squatting in a hole,” she turned to point up, to where the Vault door would be, “with a handful of lasers and a prayer, and next to nothing besides that.”

“Starting now, we get to work on moving past that. We start building rather than scrapping and scraping by. We start farming instead of foraging and hunting, and just hoping it works out.” If not for the Deathclaw she had barely managed to kill, she imagined there’d have been very hungry nights throughout their time. They’d had venison too, admittedly, but she didn’t imagine a deer matched up to that creature’s sheer mass of meat. “To keep our supplies managed, I’m promoting you, Stanley, to Commander, and assigning you as Sanctuary and the Scrap Yard’s chief provisioner.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded, displeased with it but, the consummate soldier that he was, accepting it regardless.

“Pick three volunteers from among our new friends, and begin organizational efforts.” Next she turned to Sturges, giving the Tinker a nod. “And you, Sturges, are to be our chief of development and Tinker asset assignment, with Miss Niu under you.” He was better at public speaking, she suspected, and both seemed to appreciate the job assignment. “How many people do you need under you?”

“Honestly, it’ll change from day to day.” He shrugged and then, after a moment, added a, ‘Ma’am.”

“Alright. Report to me, Preston or the Longs when you need labor assignments.” It was more work on her plate sometimes, but honestly, she couldn’t hope to have no work. It would be silly to try it. “Speaking of the Longs, you aren’t enlisted. So instead of ordering it, I’ll ask if you will lend us your expertise.”

“Our expertise?” It was Marcy who asked, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m told you were traders.” She answered with a shrug, “That would mean you have some talent in trading, of course. Keeping inventory, diverting and assigning supplies, those sorts of things. Right?”

“Right…”

“Then I’d like to hire you to do just that. And to start, I have a down payment.” She gestured past them, at the Sentry-Bot waiting on the other side of the bridge, Vertibird full of goods behind it, and smiled. “A fifth of what’s in there, to be sold wherever you wish to sell it. That would be your first payment. In exchange, I would ask you to keep our inventories monitored, and file reports whenever things are needed.”

“...Fine.” Marcy agreed after a second, and a short look with her husband. 

“Next, you heard me mention the Scrap Yard, where we were earlier.” The statement earned nods and grunts that she politely waited for, to let them engage. Speaking 101 was audience engagement, after all. “Well, I want to establish a foraging and scavenging outpost from it. A small one,” she added, “with three volunteers to man it. Bring in what you want and what you can find, and keep an eye out on that side of the lake. Preston garvey will take your volunteering and see you provisioned.”

“The rest of you can do as you wish. I heard some talking about farming opportunities, and encourage them greatly.” She paused for a handful of chuckles from the farmers and their closer friends. Nodding, she turned, “That will be all. If anyone needs my help, or wants a word, or to report anything, they’ll find me in the Overseer’s Officer, up in the Vault.”

As they started to disperse, she climbed the hill, seeing a thousand and one ways that her very basic changes would go. Some good, some bad, but as the now very old saying went ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’. Hopefully, what they gained would be strength, instead of just a target on their backs.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Dark Paladin 89 :

Yeah, I’m trying to convey the ‘Raider Nations’ as what I envision groups would be after two hundred years. Different, with their own possibly immoral practices, but still organized people.


	9. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained - Part II

XxX----XxX----XxX

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XxX----XxX----XxX

The next few weeks were simultaneously the hardest and easiest days of her time in the wild, woolly wasteland she found herself in. The settlers squabbled in the cramped barracks they were forced to use, food became more scarce as a combination of the Deathclaw finally running dry and more mouths came together, which meant she had to organize hunting and foraging runs into the woods around them, ranging further out and fishing in the lake for food. Even the fish had mutated, their scales thick and jaws filled with teeth, some species even sporting little arms with two fingered hands that they used to flip smaller rocks in search of worms to eat, and to drag themselves along the beds of the rivers and lakes more quickly.

Creepy but, she’d been thoroughly assured, completely edible. And tasted pretty alright, as an aside, grilled the way Preston did it.

Food dealt with, they spent the next several weeks on their next project. A palisade, ringing the perimeter of the hilltop in high, point-tipped wooden walls. The same logs were used to shore up the sides of the hill, a vertical trench dug out for each log to be placed in all along the slope of the hill, reinforcing it and preventing washout. The incline leading up to the ramp went through the same treatment, the logs being cut to measure so that they rose to chest height overlooking the incline over the handful of feet that led to the wooden log-gate. Long planks had been laid out to the edges of the cleared pathway, shoring it against erosion and encroaching wildlife. Later, she’d have stone laid out for the walkway but for now, the fort was done to her liking.

Well, almost.

“Sturges.” Nora called one morning a few days after the wall had been finished, sitting behind her desk in the Overseer’s office. Now it was full of crates of supplies, but she used it anyway. A quiet place to work. 

“Yeah?”The man paused at the door, grabbing its edge as he rounded it and tugging himself back around to look back at her. 

She waved for him to come in and grunted, “Need to talk to you.”

“Uh, sure.” He nodded, walking back in and taking the seat across from him. Awkwardly scooting it closer, he laid his wrists on the table like a child getting a scolding might have. “What’s up? I mean, you know… What’s up, Ma’am?”

“The walls look good, around the Vault.” She gave him a look to make it clear that it was a question. He grunted an affirmation and nodded, and she returned the gesture. After a second, she asked, “You read Preston’s report on the sightlines out over Sanctuary and the surrounding hills. Right?”

“Yeah…?” She gave him a look, her brows raised pointedly, and the man sighed. Like he expected her to yell at him so early in the morning, the man explained more honestly, “No, Ma’am, I, uh, I was working on fixing some of the ‘Claw Hammers. Their bindings came loose, so I had to make new bindings and retie them.” 

“You’re not in trouble.” Though she was somewhat frustrated that he hadn’t read it, when she’d had it made for the express purpose of informing them while defenses were planned. Trying not to let the frustration show, she explained, “The trees around the base of the hill are too dense and too close for us to see the area around us very well. And now the walls themselves block the view entirely.”

“We’re blind.” Sturges surmised wisely with a grimace and a sigh, running fingers through his hair. “Well, I can cut viewing holes, if you want.”

“We could, yeah, but that would still be too limited in my opinion.” And besides, she didn’t really like the idea of boring holes in the wood. Whether or not termites had apparently gone extinct in the area since the Great War, weakening their structure seemed a bad idea. “But I want to be able to see everywhere around us, not through a few holes.”

“Okay, well…” He sucked in a breath and clicked his tongue, thinking quickly. After a few long moments, he offered, “Well we could… Install some walkways. Maybe even a watchtower, looking out over Sanctuary. It would mean more logging, but we could do it pretty easily, with enough time.”

“Get on it.” She raised a hand before he could rise full and leave, and added, “Half-crew only, though.”

“Ma’am?”

“It’s nearing November already, Sturges.” She pointed out quietly. And thank whatever gods existed up in the sky or down in hell the winter had been mild, and they had enough food to get through it. “Half-crew working on the wall upgrades, getting them more in order. The way we just talked about. The rest I want working with the farmers, preparing a place we can raise crops come spring. Or whenever we can start sowing crops, that is.”

“I’ll get on it, Ma’am.” He nodded, turning at her own nod to leave.

With him gone she set to finishing the morning’s work, reading the inventory reports from yesterday’s foraging and hunting. And the reports on what scrap had been brought back by Stanley’s people, of course, toted back in thick cloth packs two at a time. With them came reports on the area, as she’d intended. Nothing spectacular, of course, but people saw and talked about things that they saw. And any information was better than no information, even it was just tertiary comments from civilians.

“Spoken like you aren’t a civilian too, Nora.” She chided herself, closing the old leather journal Sturges had given her. One of seven, procured from somewhere for those in charge to pass reports. “Where he got them is anyone’s guess…”

She left it in one of the Overseer’s desk cubbies and stood, pressing a hand on her hips and groaning quietly as her back popped. Grabbing the holster off the back of her chair, she strapped it on and headed for the door, to make her rounds. As she always did, nowadays, too ignorant of anything they were doing to help much. Occasionally, she provided a good shoulder or hand to help them along with something simple, but that was rare. And more often than not, she ended up in the way anyways.

Such was life, really. People that didn’t know any better could only really get in the way.

“Once things calm down,” she promised herself for not the first time, walking through the empty halls towards the lift, “I can do some studying.”

Sturges for basic understandings of how construction and scavenging worked, so she could get an understanding of it. Preston after, for military matters. If she was going to be leading a primarily military organization then she needed to understand the matters at hand, so she made as few mistakes as possible. Hell, she hadn’t even considered the sightline problems until Preston brought it up in his own limited free time.

And the same went for scavenging and hunting. She wouldn’t be able to tell a good hunting spot, or a good place to scavenge from, well… From anywhere else in the Commonwealth. Not to mention how to spot traps, what plants and animals made for good and bad foraging and hunting. She’d learn when there was time, though. Getting in the way now would be a terrible idea, to say the least. Her people needed their time to work, not bring her up to speed on two hundred years worth of missed tutoring sessions.

Inside their new encampment, the old, sabby shacks had been ripped down and removed. Along with the scraps of fence and scattered stars. In their place log buildings were being built against the back wall, opposite of Sanctuary. They were for the hunters, foragers and guards that stayed outside of the Vault. Scrap metal had been used to make chimneys for the huts, one of which puffed smoke as today’s hunters prepared to head out to find more meat and forage to bring home. The one closest to the new gate, in the corner where the old security booth had been there, had its door propped open as workers came and went, collecting their tools or dropping them off as needed.

It was like a colonial fort of the kind the French and English had used centuries ago, the latter for these every lands. Albeit with Preston toting a Laser Musket rather than a gunpowder one, and a major lacking of red coats among the people she was watching. Still, it was like something tugged out of time. A hundred years from now, she wondered if, maybe, they’d be reading about Fort Sanctuary in a history book. Maybe there’d even be a biographical section about the brave little General Nora, in over her head but trying anyway.

‘The Brave Little General That Could, a Biography’. Hell, she might write it herself, if all went well…

“Miss Nora!” An elderly voice called, the woman turning to find Mama Murphy at her ‘post’ as always. A small cookpot set up just around the corner from the gate, sheltered by a cloth tarp hooked overhead, hanging from four metal rods, two in the mud and two in the wood of the barrier. As she approached, the woman spooned her a small bowel of soup and smiled, “Finally escaped that dastardly paperwork, hmm?”

“You know, you’d think there’d be less of that since we can’t make paper anymore.” At least not yet. She’d order a run to the history museums in Boston at some point if she could, and try and find ways to make it. Sitting down, she took the bowl the woman offered and sipped at the thin broth. “How you doing, Mama Murphy?”

“Oh, these old bones are doing just fine.” The woman smiled, easing into the chair Sturges had made for her. A simple wooden one, but fitted so she could sit easier. It had taken a day of his concentration, true, but no one had argued with him. Watching the clouds, the woman spoke, “When do you intend to leave, in search of your boy?”

“When I have a chance of finding him, I guess. And when, you know… It’s safe for me to.” She shrugged, “Until then, there’s not any reason to go. Just monsters and raiders, and no leads I know of. Getting enslaved or killed won’t help anyone.”

“Is that why you’re helping us, then? Safety of prestige and arms, so you will be safe?” The woman asked, turning a sharp gaze on her. She pursed her lips and tried to find an answer that wouldn’t out her, but the woman chuckled and waved her fears of being found out off with a bony old hand. “You don’t have to hide from me, girl. I know you well enough. And for the record I know you’re keeping locked in that vault of a head of yours, I don't mind.”

“Really?” Nora asked, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on them. “I’m building all this up just to help me find my son. Kind of selfish.”

“True.” The old woman nodded, “But selfish in a good way, I say. You just want to save your son. Who would hold that against you?”

“I imagine a lot of people, if they knew this was all just for me. Not for any… More moralistic reasons.” Even if she built the Minutemen into a goliath that could protect the entire Commonwealth, and put an end to the Raider Tribes, she was sure people would hate her for using them. She didn’t care, of course, but she knew it was a possibility. “Why don’t you mind me using you all like this?”

“Those people would be dead if you weren’t, no?” She didn’t have an argument to that, and Mama Murphy knew it. Smiling yjom;y she moved on, “Besides, I know you’ll do right by us. I saw it.”

“Yeah…” Her ‘visions’, or whatever they were supposed to be called. She still wasn’t too sure about them, even if Preston swore by them. “I just hope you’re right.”

“I'm always right, kid.” She said with a toothy, wizened smile. The kind that spoke of resignation as well as amusement, with a touch of bitterness in the background. “Even when I don’t wanna be, don’t wanna see, I’m right. And I see.”

“Alright then, tell me. What should we do next?” The woman raised an eyebrow and she waved around them with a hand. Mama Murphy’s eyes followed her hand as it went, fixated oddly on it. “I’m building walkways and a watchtower to secure things, and setting up farms. What should we do after that?”

“Let’s see then, hm?” She said, catching her hand as it came closer and pulling it into her lap, forcing Nora to scoot closer to sit comfortably. Closing her eyes, the woman hummed and went quiet. Then she shuddered, lips peeling back over her teeth in a snarl. “I sense… South, along the road. A bridge with a mouth like a monster, biting down on an ancient ship. Red light will see you safely by it. Past it, monsters and… Something odd. Something false, waiting for you.”

“Something false…?” Like a lie, maybe? Or perhaps it was something worse, like a trap. There were just too many options, she needed to know what was false. And how. “What is false, Mama Murphy?”

“I don’t know, but… I sense someone with a dark past will be your helper, to get to the jewel.” Her eyes opened and Nora flinched in surprise at the pale pink irises staring at her. Then she blinked and they were gone, replaced by the kindly old eyes. “The jewel is almost certainly Diamond City, kid. But the rest…? I dunno.”

“When do you think I should be leaving, then? The red light might be laser fire, so I will take Preston, but that leaves Sanctuary open...” Why she was even listening to these weird predictions and vague woo filled nonsense she had no idea. Deep down, she figured, she was still desperate for any clues. No matter how hard she clamped down and tried to keep herself under control, it was there.

“No, the red is…” Her brow furrowed and she groaned, pinching her nose like she was in pain. Forcing herself through something, the old woman shuddered again, as though cold. Even with a fire near, Nora could feel a chill overtake them. “I feel… Honor, and falsity, and metal. Within and without. An iron heart. A brother. An old code, and old name for all these things. An… Ally? I don’t…”

“Mama Murphy?” The woman didn’t answer, though, or react as she pulled her hand free. She just stared ahead at the fire, watching the wood burn. She laid a hand on her knee and shook it to get her attention. Blearily, she turned her gaze on the young general, and Nora murmured, “What do you see, Mama Murphy?”

“I can’t, kid.” She shook her head and rose, stiff and exhausted looking. Shoulders sloped and back bowed, like she’d aged another decade inside a minute. Shuffling off, she murmured, “Gonna take a nap… I’m so tired.”

“Okay…” She watched the woman step onto the platform and start to descend, ignoring the calls of worry from the settler manning the button. For a minute she sat there, staring after the woman and sipping her broth. Thinking. Finally, she stood and sighed, shaking her head, “Damn weirdness and woo…”

Still, she made the very strong mental note to remember to take Preston with her when she headed towards Diamond City. And to watch out for ‘green monsters’ of whatever kind she was supposed to run into. They certainly didn’t sound fun, but then,, what did in this woolly world she was in now?

‘Sleeping.’ She thought to herself, rounding the corner and headed down to look for Preston. ‘Sleeping in sounded fun.’

As usual, finding Preston was a simple matter of going to Sanctuary’s rickety bridge and sitting down beside the Sentry Bot they left parked there when it didn’t need its batteries charged. Waiting there, eventually his rounds would bring him to her, sooner or later. In this case, to her relief, it turned out to be sooner rather than later. Sitting on the stone, she held up a hand in a wave as he approached, overcast sky letting the red of his musket cast his face in a typical eerie red. 

Something that was the norm by now, even if it did always make him look somewhat evil.

“General, Ma’am. G’morning.” He grunted, making a quick salute, military style with the butt of his rifle stamping once, gently, against the ground beside him. She nodded and he relaxed, shouldering his weapon and stepping past her to look out past the river and watch the opposite bank. “Sturges said you were ordering walkways and watchtowers?”

“To fix the sightline problem you mentioned.” She said in answer, resting a hand on her pistol’s holster and joining him in watching the shore. Something she did more for comfort, than anything. No chance she could hit anything with it from so far away. “I don’t want anything able to sneak up on us, Preston.” 

“I know, Ma’am.” He nodded, “Neither do I.”

“Good.” Then he approved of her actions there, at least. A bit of anxiety existed surrounding what he did and didn’t approve of, though she’d never tell him about it. “I’ve ordered a half-crew assignment on the wall improvements, though.”

“The rest?”

“Securing us food.” She answered simply, “Setting up farms, mainly, however the farmers want it done. Their purview, that. I won’t dream of stepping in.”

“Good.” Preston grunted, adding a wry shake of his head and a chuckle for effect. “Farmers tend to get a bit antsy about people coming in to tell them how to do their jobs.”

“I bet, yeah.” She could remember the farmer-riots when their plots had been appropriated and nationalised to help feed the troops fighting the communists. Then came the conscription riots, rationing riots… Hell, she’d almost participated in the protests the intellectual community held when the government started ‘appropriating’ and ‘drafting’ their research and themselves. Sighing she assured them both, “I don’t intend to try and play the tyrant, as long as they don’t cause any problems.”

“Problems, Ma’am?”

“Shortages. Inefficiencies.” He nodded at her explanation and she explained further, “I do intend to roll out a bit of Old World knowledge, though. If it’s needed. Mind being the mouthpiece?”

“Because…?”

“Because I’m bad with people who think I’m stepping on their toes.” With it came aggravation and she wasn’t good at assuaging aggravation. Nate always said she lacked the empathy for it, though he never phrased it as an insult. 

‘Merely a point of fact, honey,’ He’d always said. And if nothing else, she respected points of fact. And besides, he’d kissed her after, showing he didn’t care-

She clamped down on the memory as she so often had to, when she let her mind drift. Beside her, Preston must have noticed the pursed lips and grimace, because he bumped an arm against her own. She flinched and he smiled disarmingly, asking gently, “Need to talk about it, General?”

“No.” Yes, but not right now. If she did then the carefully controlled emotions would break through their cage and cause problems. Problems better dealt with when there were no threats against them, if that ever came. Seeking the easy change of topic, she asked, “When do you think we should start conducting our own heavy scavenging runs with the robot?”

“When do you want to?”

“When there’s not any risk at all for it, and I can leave Shaun with Mama Murphy.” She answered sarcastically, sighing as she noted her foul mood. Reigning it in, she murmured, “Sorry, Preston.”

“You’re fine, General.” He assured her, the duo watching a couple Settlers wade into the water to start digging up the scrap hunks embedded in the soil there. To what end, neither could be sure, but maybe they just wanted the water cleared of trash. Regardless, the man started talking, “Winter is coming on fast and hard, Ma’am. It’s warm enough now that our overcoats can handle it, and the Vault’ll make good shelter from the weather anyway.”

“Right.” She nodded, “Sensing a but in there, somewhere…”

“But,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “we can’t get our food stores high enough to last. We’re grazing, mostly, on what little we can find. But the Rad-Stags will be headed north,, into the mountains, for winter soon. And the foraging plants will start hibernating, too. All that’ll be left is the predators that don’t follow the deer, aiming to steal cattle or people from settlements.”

“I’m guessing hunting those will not be an option?”

“Actually, it is, if we can get some beast hunters in to help us.” He held his Musket up for her and shook his head, though, adding, “But this won’t be that useful against a lot. Yao Guai are resistant to energy weapons. Mirelurks too. Super Mutants not so much and while eating those isn’t a good idea, their hounds make good food, and settlements might give us food for dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, Muties would take it anyway.” He shrugged, “Difference is they’d take people, too.”

“Mhm.” It wasn’t a terrible idea, really. Or at least, it wasn’t one to just dismiss out of hand, without considering. For now, though, sensing that he wanted to lead the conversation somewhere, she asked, “I’m assuming you already had an idea on what to do about it, though? Since you came to me and mentioned it.”

“Well, yeah, Ma’am. I do have an idea, and a… Bit of reason for it besides. A secondary, personal reason, I mean.” He gave her a look asking if she still wanted to hear it and she nodded, earning a shaky sigh. Clearly, the man was filled with some emotion over the matter, even if she herself couldn’t quite read it. “Back when we ran from Quincy, we came up by and through parts of Lexington. Near enough to a Super Duper Mart I saw and, low on supplies as we were…”

“You thought you’d go scavenging.”

“I sent a team, Ma’am.” He gestured with his rifle at a couple of the Settlers as an example and added in a grunt, “I had civvies with me. Couldn’t take ‘em into the old town safely. Ghouls were infesting the area.”

“That sounds bad…”

“Good with the bad, really.” Preston nodded, explaining quietly while several settlers hauled a huge, partially rusted hunk of steel out of the river. Fish, disturbed by the movement and wash of dirt the action had kicked up, scurried away. “Ghoul infestation like that means that the area wouldn’t have been scrapped or scavved out yet. Raider corpses we could see meant the Assembly were fighting them, tough, so they were probably further inside the old city. Closer to Corvega and the Assembly City.”

“And you were on the outside, opposite side of Lexington from where you figured they would be.” He nodded and she hummed, a bit of a mental layout starting to come to mind. 

“Sent a handful of fighters into the outskirts, to loot the Mart.” He finished, shaking his head and sighing tiriedly in the way Nate used to when he talked about missions that went wrong. “They never came back, Ma’am. Don’t know why, but after so long, don’t imagine any good reasons. Always a chance they’re trapped or something, but…”

“Vain hope is as good a killer as any blade orpoison.” She murmured understandingly. He gave her a look and she shrugged, smiling thinly, “Paraphrasing a saying by someone else in history.”

“Yeah... “ He shook his head at something she didn’t understand and moved on. “My men shoulda thinned the proverbial herd whether they are alive or not, though. And between their rifles and the supplies there…”

She sighed, knowing what he was suggesting, and nodded. “Team layout?”

“You, me, and a stop to get Miss Niu.” She gave him a look and he quickly explained, “If there’s an old robot there, broken or nah, then she might be able to salvage it. Even just a Protectron would be… Just damn dandy to have around. We could assign it to the Scrap Yard, so both places have a semi-armored defense.”

“Not a bad plan.” Spare rifles would be useful for forming a more gun-oriented militia, at least. And they had the Vault to supply their ‘cells. “How many lasers? And if you had to guess, how much food?”

“Five or six rifles, if I remember right.” She whistled and he nodded knowingly, more than aware how well equipped that would make them. “I’ll teach you how to use one, too. Save on ammo for your ten mil’.” She nodded and he turned to look at the parked Vertibird, complete with the hanging cloth Alexa and Sturges had set up. Bobbing his head to and fro, he hummed, “Might, might, be able to fill up the ‘Bird there. Drinks with calories, food, maybe some old clothes or usable scrap.”

“Alright.” She nodded, rolling her shoulders to mentally prepare to head back out there for the first time. At least they didn’t have to kill people this time… Small mercies. “Get two days of food and water and a sleeping kit. I’ll go and find Sturges, and have him hook the Vertibird up, and check the fuel.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded, snapping another salute as he had before and turning to leave. 

Now she just had to find Sturges, and get her chariot loaded and ready to head out. Eyeing the bridge’s old, semi-ruined struts she grumbled and turned. Adding repairs to that to the list of things she wanted worked on sooner rather than later. Wood trim, she was sure, would be enough to at least start on replacing the broken planks. Unless she wanted to just build a new bridge...

XxX----XxX----XxX

Misdirection :

Glad you’re enjoying it!

Dark paladin 89 :

In truth, the canon Minutemen weren’t bad. They simply found themselves mired in politics and factionalism. Minus the factionalised nature, and with some better cultural entrenchment in settlements they protected, and support from them, they’d have been fine. Politics plus a lack of settlement ingratiation and a jagoff Mirelurk Queen doomed them, in my eyes.

I’m simply improving on those holes. Or rather, Nora is. The one rambling, though, is definitely me. XD

Nick :

Yeah, the Gunners have this veneer of threat to them that doesn’t feel borne out beyond their bases and the background information.


	10. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained - Part III

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

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Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : Mii Mii, the Magnificent

XxX----XxX----XxX

It took them a day to circle around Sanctuary Lake, whose name she actually couldn’t remember embarrassingly enough, to get to the Scrapyard. The trip was quiet, though. Concord was still clear of all but a pack of furless, mangy and clearly mutant hounds. They scattered at the sight and sound of the Sentry Bot, trundling through and past the Museum of Freedom, though. She didn’t know if they recognized it or just saw ‘giant noisy thing’ and scattered, but she didn’t really care.

Idly, though, she did wonder if maybe they could try and re-domesticate the hounds in the area. 

“Mongrels like those can’t be domesticated, General.” Preston answered when she asked him about it, aiming more to pass time than anything else while they trundled down towards the old quarry. The hills that would have made it a straight shot were too rough terrain to cross with the robot, and they needed its cargo hold. “Radiation changed ‘em. Not every dog got messed up, but… Some of ‘em are like that. Mad, like the Ferals and irradiated bears.”

“Yeah, they looked sickly like that...” Part of her wanted to look into that. The radiation had probably warped their brains somehow. If they had a scientist or twelve, she could ask them to look into it. “What’s fighting a Feral like?”

“Like fighting a half-naked crazy person.” Preston shrugged, feet up on the old console and laser across his chest, eyes watching everything they passed by. If they were going to be attacked, it’d be from the rear, after all. “Got us some axes in the back. They come in for us, we aim for their throats. They die plenty easy if you get their throats.”

“Why the throat?”

“They bleed out? Because, you know… Their throat’s been ripped open?” He shrugged, apparently amused she’d asked why you would stab people in the throat. She could seem the amusement in it and chuckled, which let him relax a bit and go on, “Just what we were trained to do. My ‘Musket will be quiet enough not to draw any into the place, but your ten mil’ won’t. So, axes, with you and Miss Niu at the back.”

“And you in the front.” She guessed with a thin, raised brow. 

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He nodded, making a show of the mail he was wearing under his long coat. She made zero effort to hide her displeasure at the idea and the man laughed good naturedly, waving her off with a small smile. “Appreciate the concern, General. Really. But I’m loaded out on armor, got extra stims in a box in the back, and I am the least important of the three people that’ll be there.”

“You shouldn’t say that…”

“Am I wrong?” He asked, one brow raised. She couldn’t honestly say he was and huffed for it, the man chuckling in response. “It’s fine, really, Ma’am. Don’t stress it. And besides, we’re taking Alexa because you,” he reached over to bump her arm, “remember there being Protectrons there. If we find robots there for her to patch up, they might be able to handle most of the Ghouls.”

“Assuming your people didn’t, that is.” She noted, the man’s smile vanishing as soon as the words left her mouth. Like she’d thrown a switch in his brain, turning him and the mood sour enough even she could feel it. He tucked the rifle closer to his chest and turned away, looking out at the passing wasteland and making her sigh. She couldn’t guess why he was upset, but regardless she apologized, “Sorry, Preston. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just… Planning, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He murmured, nodding and giving her a small, weak smile. “It’s alright, General. They probably kicked some ass, after all.”

She wisely chose to let them fall back into silence after that, internally cursing her habit of inserting her foot straight into her mouth. A bad habit of hers, and not one she could do much about really. Well, except what she was already doing, and letting people have their space when she inevitably stepped on some toes. By the time they reached the Scrapyard, she hoped, the man’s mood would have improved well enough to get on.

Whatever he felt when they got there, he put on a good front, stepping out before the scavenging rig had even come to a stop. 

“Hi!” The girl practically shouted as she joined them, bouncing on her heels and smiling widely at her. Eyes sparkling, and looking much more fed than she had before, the girl turned an eye on her robot-cart and asked, “Are the couplings holding it steady? I’ve been worried about the couplings holding right without me there to maintain them.”

“The couplings have been holding up just fine.” She assured the woman, shaking her head at her manic energy. Good food, honest and enjoyable work, and a clean Vault Suit had seemingly done wonders for her energy and mood. A mood which was somewhat contagious, drawing a small smile from both of the two Minutemen. “You do good work, Alexa. Have some confidence in your skills.”

“Aw, you’re gonna make me blush…” She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck bashfully, chuckling under her breath. Still smiling, she asked, “You said there are some ‘bots out there that need fixing?”

“We don’t know they’re there, but maybe, yeah.” She remembered two, or maybe it was three, Protectrons out at the old ‘Mart. Regardless, “For now, we just need a hand and a better eye for scavenging in general. You see something we should stop to strip, you let us know and we’ll pull over for you.”

“After we hit the ‘Mart.” Preston added, chuckling and adding, jokingly, “Knowin’ you, you’d stop us at every car that had wheels you could rip off.”

“First off, you big bully, the old Corvega tires are a really good resource to collect. Four old Corvega wheels, some wood slats and some rope and we can rig up some light wagons to haul crap. Also, the engines can be parted out and sometimes you get somethin’ decent. Not sure enough for most tribes to send Tinkers out to scrap ‘em though, and normal scrappers miss the really good stuff.” Preston chuckled and gave the woman a look and she flushed, hiding her face in grease stained hands. Whining, she murmured, “And you were teasing me again, and I missed it and rambled…”

“Yep.” The man chuckled, smiling good naturedly. “Dork.”

“Bully…”

“I’m just pickin’ on you.” He laughed, shaking his head and turning to Nora. “General, come on, help me out here. You know I’m not a bully.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Nora offered, reaching out to pat the woman on the shoulder and chuckling at the way she scrunched down into her shoulders at the contact. Wrapping an arm around her easily and walking her towards the rig, she smiled, “Us dorks gotta stick together out here in the big, bad Wasteland. Or else bullies like Preston’ll walk all over us.”

“I hate both of you…”

“Don’t worry, Preston.” Nora smiled, “You can walk, we’ll ride. That way you don’t have to be near us.”

The man only sighed in answer as the women climbed into the Vertibird. He didn’t walk, though, and that had never really been the plan. Instead, he sat on the edge of the crew hold, the door only pulled half-closed so he could ride along. As the machine turned around, Alexa asked if she could have the Pip-Boy to check the Sentry’s status while they travelled. Shrugging it off, the General handed it over and relaxed, feet up as she watched the Scrapyard recede into the distance. Several of the Settlers who had come out waved at them as they left and, after Alexa waved, she joined her.

This kind of thing wasn’t really her kind of thing but then, she had a part to play as the General of the Minutemen.

With the Assembly controlling the areas of Lexington around the Corvega plant, their trip was made longer than it otherwise might have been. Instead of cutting through, they skirted roughly east, towards the ocean and then turned in towards where the old retirement home had been. Once it had been a warm place, with a garden out back and the elderly sitting on the porch to watch the young pass them by.

Now, it looked terrifying in plenty of ways. The back left side had collapsed wholly, and the front door was missing. Skeletons lay sprawled over wheelchairs and porch-chairs both, left there probably since the Great War had killed their former owners. The broken porch itself looked like a mouth of sharp teeth, the railings broken and fragmented jaggedly from weather and the bombs themselves. A few bullet holes also pockmarked the wall from the early days of the post-apocalypse, crossed by massive claw marks from the gods only knew what.

Something she did not want to meet, she felt safe in assuming. 

Inside, the old retirement home was little better. More skeletons littered the place in the orderly chaos brought on by a very sudden death you had about five minutes to see coming. The elderly and orderlies who could move had rushed towards the back of the building, aiming to get somewhere though she had no idea where. Their couple dozen skeletons littered the hallway, broken and eaten, along with a handful of others that had been abandoned in the living area for being too slow to move. A dark decision, but one that doctors, nurses and caregivers were trained to make, if the worst should come and they had to choose who lived and died.

That they had all died in the end didn’t rob them of having had to make the choice. It only made it a sadder one. So much potential wasted...

“Anyone you knew?” Preston asked when he caught her looking at the skeletons. She almost jumped at the noise, and felt a hand on her forearm for it. In the dim light from the setting sun, the man offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, General. You looked lost in thought, starin’ at those old ghosts.”

“Ghosts?”

“The skeletons.” Preston explained, letting her arm go now he knew she was calmer. And that she wasn’t about to pull her sidearm out, though he hadn’t mentioned that. Kneeling, he gently slid the bones into a pile to the side so they wouldn’t be stepped on. “Skeletons like these are everywhere. After the bombs dropped, no one had time to bury so many people. Now, they’re in all these old buildings. Haunting the place.”

“Like ghosts.” It made a certain kind of sense, she supposed. In the way other natural cultural ideas could, and would, evolve over time. 

“Didn’t answer my question.” He pointed out as he stood, the path down the hall cleared of the remains enough that they could respectfully pass by. Meeting her eyes with raised brows of his own, he asked again, “Did you know any of ‘em?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if you did, we’ll bury ‘em.” He shrugged, waving a hand at the various ‘ghosts’ that he’d slid against the wall. Further down, Alexa had circled around the building doing the same, and knelt to continue her grim work with a pinched, almost grieving expression. “Won’t be able to pick ‘em out of the crowd, so we’ll have to bury them all, though. Not that Miss Niu will mind much.”

“Yeah.” She seemed the type to feel too much, too easily. A problem in a lot of ways, and a benefit in just as many, depending on what was going on. Preston gave her a look, though, and she sighed. “Yes, I knew some of the people here. A few nurses here worked with my department, and the neighbors had family staying here. But we don’t have to-”

“Miss Alexa, pull some shovels out of the ‘Bot.” Preston called, ignoring her wholly as he made his way towards the startled woman. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder and back towards her, he explained, “General Nora knew some of ‘em back in the day, so they get buried.”

She opened her mouth to argue, or even to outright order him not to bother, but after a second she just sighed, “Fine, fine. We’ll bury them.” As little as it mattered to a person like her, there was no reason not to. And besides, “While we’re at it, I want a thorough search of the building. Scrap, supplies, bodies for burial. See what we can find.”

The two called out their ‘Yes, ma’ams’ and set to work, the general herself joining them after a second to roll her eyes at them. 

The bodies - or, well, skeletons but still - were swiftly and easily dealt with. Preston dug a wide, deep trench where she said the garden had once been and they were respectfully piled up in the grave. How respectful a mass grave was could, and had been in the past, be debated. But it just had to be better than being left out to bleach like they had been. Each room was swept for corpses and loot that could be salvaged. Plenty of the former were found, though precious little of the latter was. Still, they buried all the bodies inside and out, around the building.

Except for one, locked behind a heavy security fence that they crowded around as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Her Pip-Boy, thankfully, offered some substantial enough light for them to see. A man, locked inside and sitting in a wheelchair, surrounded by empty beer bottles. And with two apparently unopened aid boxes on a wall, beside a shelf crowded by old tools, a couple packs of duct tape, boxes of nails and screws and several heavy bags of fertilizer. All of which were exactly the kinds of things they needed, down to the broken shove whose spade head could be salvaged for a new shovel.

“Can you get into it?”

“Gimme a few hours in the morning and I can, yeah, General.” Alexa answered, sounding both tired and content after the burials. She waved a hand down the hall and added, “Lights on that way, by the locked door, too. I can debolt ‘em both to get inside. Might be a working fusion generator down under the building. Spare Core, and I can strip it to start stockpiling for Fusion-Generators back home.”

“Surface power without having to run wires up from the Vault like Sturges was thinkin’ about doing.” Preston nodded, not bothering to point out that running wires up like that would mean they couldn’t seal the door. Or, well, that they couldn’t seal the door without ruining the wires, at least. “Would mean a few hours delay, though… And a couple days after we hit the ‘Mart back here, to scrap out the generator.”

“Assuming the ‘Mart doesn’t have one…”

“If it does, I’d say…” The Tinker paused to purse her lips in thought, blowing out a breath after a moment and shrugging. “A week, probably. But I, or I mean we, would have enough scrap to rig up solid power at both the Scrapyard and Sanctuary.”

“How much power?”

“The Scrapyard wouldn’t need a damn thing outside that kinda rigging.” She answered quickly, not even needing a moment to consider it. A Tinker’s expertise, she supposed. Regardless, the woman moved on inside the moment, “Sanctuary? The Fort will have more than enough power if we set it up there. If we rip down the old houses and rebuild along the road, this kinda setup would power maybe half of it.”

“Or all of it, if we ration where it goes strictly.” Preston added quickly, “No electric heating, for instance. Instead, we could use fireplaces.”

“Or steam.” Alexa added distractedly, kneeling on the ground to inspect the old, scratched up bolt assembly. Evidently, others had tried this approach too, though they had failed for some reason that they didn’t know. “Though that’d mean a water pump system and some of the power to, you know, make the steam.”

“Your decision, General.” Preston finished, giving her a look and shrugging. “If you wanna camp out for a couple days, we could scout the area out together. Or just wait.”

“Will she be safe alone if we hit up the ‘Mart while she opens this place up?” And while she scrapped things, she left unsaid. It would mean they wouldn’t be able to get the robots, if they were there, on side to deal with any Ghouls, of course. “I doubt there’s anything nearby of any real value without getting deeper into old Lexington.”

“Which would mean Ghouls en masse, or the Assembly’s scavenging teams and patrols.” Preston filled out, shaking his head and adjusting the rifle humming in his hands. He took a breath and, finally, gave her what she’d been probing for, “My opinion? ‘Mart as a team, see what kinda supply we get from digging through there, and maybe pop in here for a few days after to loot the place out.”

“Alright.” She nodded, “Then let’s get to bed and get out there. As soon as the sun’s up, we move.”

The soldier and the engineer both simply nodded, more than tired and hungry enough to turn in for the night after the digging and skeleton carrying. They set up camp in the welcome area, now cleaned of ghosts and with a barrel full of old wood for warmth and to heat up their food, downed some cans of Pork’n’Beans canned literal centuries before - better not to think about it, according to Preston - and curled up to sleep while the robot outside maintained a surveillance routine.

Preston initially wanted a watch routine, but an explanation that the robot’s scanners could detect the whole building put that to rest. Literally, in fact.

XxX----XxX----XxX

She woke up to the sound and smell of frying bacon, the metal spatula scraping on the frying pan loudly. She could feel a couch under her, and the breeze of a fan blowing on her from above. Cracking her eyes open, and wincing at the bright light, she could see a ceiling fan spinning idly, set into a clean, white painted ceiling. A very familiar white painted ceiling at that, making her bolt upright on the couch, the thin blanket she’d been covered by falling off and leaving her bare in her Vault Suit.

“Here you are, Mum.” The shiny, freshly silvered Mister Handy said from beside her, setting down a steaming mug that smelled of juniper. Tea, freshly made just how she’d had the store owner program it into him. Giving her a little salute, it shot off, calling out, “Sir! Mum is awake. You asked that I let you know.”

“Thanks, Codsworth.” A voice in the kitchen answered, making her breath hitch as the man turned around, dressed in his old military fatigues and carrying a light smoking pan. Nate smiled, scraping the bacon out onto plates she couldn’t see on the counter and setting the pan aside. Carrying them over, she sat the breakfast ensemble down on the end table beside the couch and smiled, asking, “How are you doing?”

“I…” She blinked and turned, picking up the plate of eggs and bacon. Then she sat there, looking at it for a long moment. “I’m… Okay.”

“Really?” Nate asked, leaning over to sprinkle a little bit of salt onto her food like he always did for her. Taking a piece of bacon and ripping into it, he raised an eyebrow and talked around the food in his mouth, “Because from what I’ve seen, you’ve been doing nothing but squashing how you feel about what happened for… What, a couple months now?”

“I’m fine.”

“Nora-”

“Can we please just enjoy our breakfast…?” She tried, desperate and knowing this was a dream. When all she got in answer was his look, the kind he always fixed her with when she wasn’t doing what she knew was right, she sighed. Leave it to her subconscious to not let things lie, she supposed. “I-I know I haven’t processed, really, but I’m fine.”

“Nora…”

“And besides, I have a mission, Nate.” Nate, or at least her subconscious imprint of him sighed at that. Whether the man would have conceded so easily she couldn’t guess, even in the weird head space of a dream, but her impression of him had always been a man who put the mission on a pedestal. Just like she did. Quietly, and knowing how pointless it was, she explained, “Our son is missing. I have a warzone to get across to start looking for him, and no allies to help me get him back when - if - I find him. I can open up the compartmentalization when I don’t have to worry about that. Or just, you know staying alive.”

“You know I’m going to argue with you. I’m you, in a way, after all.” The man pointed out, smiling when she nodded, head aching. Behind her, Codsworth buzzed up, holding another cup. This one, from the smell of things, was filled with coffee. “Good. We’re outta time, though, so you’ll just have to pretend I did. Huh?”

“What?” No, it couldn’t be. She needed more time, to see him and talk to him, even if it was fake. “No, no, I-I haven’t even finished my plate!” She picked it up to show him, but found it empty, flecked only by crumbs of bacon and pepper. “T-That’s not fair…” She looked to him, eyes aching as she forced back tears, “I-I didn’t eat any of it! That’s not fair!”

“No, it isn’t.” The man shrugged, reaching over to hug her and pulling back. This time, he was wearing the Vault Suit, chest open and red with blood. She flinched and he chuckled, “But eh, getting shot wasn’t fair to me, either?”

She couldn’t help it, as badly as she tried to contain and control herself. 

She screamed like a little girl.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Whoa, General!” Preston grunted as she came up, slammed into his shoulder and subsequently hurled him back. He scrambled back and fell, tripping over the groggy form of their Tinker on the floor and sprawling on her other side while she panicked and wiggled. Laying in a heap with his legs over the frightened girl, he groaned, “It’s time to get up, Ma’am. And hot damn do I feel bad for your alarm clock…”

“Sorry.” She grunted, shaking of the dregs of sleep and her dream both. Quickly, she thought up an excuse, “Bad dreams, since the Vault. Just…” She took a deep breath to collect herself and turned, picking up her overcoat and pulling it on. “Let’s get to work, you two. We have a lot of shit ahead of us.”

“Sure, General.” The man groaned, rolling over and pushing himself up. Standing and dusting himself off, he grunted, “But you set your alarm for a wakeup call next time. I don’t fancy gettin’ checked every time I have to do it.”

She didn’t answer and, after a quick breakfast of more salty Pork’n’Beans, they set off into Lexington. Unlike the outskirts and more ‘wild’ roads they’d traveled so far, the streets of Lexington were crowded. Cars, old barricades and mounds of bricks from dilapidated buildings hampered their path. They were forced to get out and push aside the vehicles, break down the barricades, and find ways to make ramps that their little scavenging rig could mount over to continue.

And so, though they left at sunrise, they only reached the actual Super Duper Mart at noon. Already tired, she ordered them to circle the wagon, so to say, across the front door of the old shopping center. They left the outside door locked and shoved the crates and barrels the hold was almost full of against the door and pulled the hanging curtain out along the outer wing to hide them. Then they settled in for lunch of, yet again, Pork’n’Beans. And this time of the cold variety.

Because that was just what she’d meant when she mentioned ‘variety’ to Preston.

“I’ll take the lead, you girls follow me in. Slow and steady, just into the entry area and then we take a look around. Clear?” They both nodded, even though technically she was in charge. Not that she would ever press that going into combat, as ignorant as she was on the matter, even with Nate’s self defence lessons. Shoulder his Musket, the man turned around and took a breath, “Alright then, let’s do this.”

Stepping in, they were met with a dim and grim sight straight from the start. Four lumpy, mostly nude, thankfully sexless seeming creatures lay in the entryway. One had lost its head, another had been blasted almost in half by a laser round, and two more had been hacked to pieces by what she guessed to have been axes or hatchets. All of them had been piled up against the left wall and left there, alongside a single spent Fusion Cell sitting on a bench beside the pile for later collection.

“Yes!” Alexa squealed quietly, clapping her hands excitedly and completely ignoring the blood and the smell of the bodies. Instead, she was fixated on the three occupied charging booths. Inside which sat three pristine looking Protectrons, red ‘idle’ lights flickering in its conical head. Peeking around the corner into the manager’s area, she whispered excitedly, “And the terminal works too! Gimme your Pip-Boy and I can assume control of the robots.”

Chuckling under her breath, she unhooked it and handed it over. Three robots sounded damn useful right about now.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Flintlock (Guest) :

Yes, but which is easier? To produce gunpowder, hand load ammunition, and then use a gun? Or just make a basic charging port - or use ones already around in the world - and simply charge an MFC? In my mind, at least in this region of the world, the collective culture aligned mostly to MFC usage. SOME, like the Gunners, do hand load ammunition though.

Lexington Fan (Guest) :

A lot of Lexington is under the Assembly’s control, and so won’t be seen much of. The outskirts, like the ‘Mart and retirement home, are much the same as they are in canon.

The Red Shirt who Lived (AO3) :

Sure. I don’t mind you using it, my reasoning for it, or any other design elements I am using. Go to town!


	11. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained - Part IV

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : Darkvampirekisses

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Protect and serve.” The three Protectrons reported, trundling free of their pods half an hour later with heavy footsteps and spinning Protectron claws. At a barked command from the smiling Tinker woman their stubby arms snapped up in as best a salute as the machines could manage and they whirred, in stuttery, electronic unison, “Protectron reporting for duty, General.”

“Cute.”

“I thought it would be, and I had to run through the targeting systems anyway.” Why those were related Nora didn’t know and didn’t ask. Robotics and computers were Alexa’s forte, not hers, and she trusted the woman’s skills and assertions. Swiftly looking the three machines over the woman hummed, finally pointing to the one that had been charging in the pod closest to the door, “This one’s leg hinge is a bit corroded. Nothing a rag and some oil won’t fix, but…”

“Would take extra time to get done.” Preston grunted, getting a small nod from the smaller Tinker woman. Turning to Nora the man adjusted his grip on his humming rifle a bit and suggested, “Have it watch the door, maybe, General? Keeps it secure for our exit, and we’ll have time to clean it out before we leave.”

“Especially since we wanna loot the place.” Casually, she tossed an oil covered hand towards an old shelf, smiling that energetic smile the Tinker sometimes had when she was especially happy about something. “And I mean, looks like there’s stuff to loot.” 

Pork’n’Beans and Nuka Colas were sitting haphazardly on the shelf. Preserved by radiation and secured in the once Ghoul infested building, the food had been left behind, until someone was dumb enough to try and clear the place. They finally had, even though it seemed to have gone wrong at some point since their team hadn’t returned, and now the loot was up for grabs. Though she did wonder, silently, why it hadn’t been looted in the first few weeks of the apocalypse. Surely people would have been hungry then, too.

But then again there was the old adage about gift horses and their mouths. 

“Not a bad plan…” Humming in thought she turned to look at the door and her eyes narrowed, the woman turning and moving to it. 

Kneeling, she pulled a board away and frowned, running her fingers over an odd, chalk drawing. Like a star, with eight white dashes worn down by time and covered in dust, with a small ‘X’ in the middle. Beside the ‘X’ an arrow pointed to the side, at the door, as though pointing out that they should leave. Lips pursed she asked, “Preston, do you know what this is?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Hmm… X marks the spot, maybe?” She asked no one, eyes flicking over it and then to the door. Shaking her head she murmured, “No, that makes no sense. Why would a secret symbol to mark treasure direct people out of a place that has it? It has to mean something else…”

“Danger maybe?” Preston suggested, “A big ol’ ‘X’ for ‘stop’, because a place is dangerous or somethin’?”

“Yeah, maybe. Hang on.” Standing, she pushed the door open and stepped outside. 

The Sentry Bot whirred in agitation for a moment, swiveling to look at her, and then relaxed on noting who had tripped its sensors and resumed staring at the city around them. Looking around she swiftly found another symbol, again with a ‘X’. Inside the circle formed by the dashes was another symbol she didn’t understand any better. An academic hat, like the kind graduating students wore and threw into the air, with the atomic symbol below it. She didn’t understand that symbol, but the context around the arrow was somewhat clearer for it not being here.

“So an arrow means a direction to go.” She nodded, stepping back into the ‘Mart with as many questions as she had aches. And since she hadn’t collected it back from her yet, she ordered, “Miss Niu, make a note of the symbols on the Pip-Boy. The highlight dashes seem to be the frame of a statement. Arrows mean a direction to go, but I don't know if it just means ‘go that way’ or ‘go to something that way’. There’s another one outside, to the left in the doorway, too.”

“Got it, General.”

While she popped out to take the ordered notes, Nora set about ordering the robots into action. The one with the corroded servo she left at the door, on orders to watch it and alert them if anything came in. And to, of course, attack anything that attacked it. A Ghoul, she figured, would smack it and earn what it earned, as dumb as Preston implied they were. And as dumb as their state of undress and emaciation implied, too. Especially in the case of the latter, given how much sealed food was in the store.

The other two she ordered to either side, one walking into the open area to the right of the door and the other walking down the line of registers. When ghouls emerged from neither place, and their Tinker was back with them, they followed along the register line. Three aisles down the ceiling had collapsed, annihilating the better part of four more aisles - annoyingly the canned goods section, too - under a mountain of concrete, broken shelving and heavy rebar.

And, heaped around the rubble, more Ghoul corpses. Some had been hacked at like the others, and just as many had been blasted black by laser fire. But all were very dead, and piled in a mound alongside the store’s Ghosts. Next to the pile, laid straight and with their uniform jacket over their face and their Musket at their feet, was a body.

“Lars.” Preston explained, kneeling beside it and grimacing heavily. Using the butt of his rifle to hold his weight he leaned over and, gently, lifted the coat a bit. With a growl he let it fall and stood, “Got him in the throat, ripped the jugular right out. Damn it…”

Ghouls were dumb and malnourished, likely sustained by radiation as much as food and water, but they were vicious it seemed. Stepping up behind the man she laid a hand on his shoulder and murmured, gently, “I’m sorry, Preston.”

“Yeah.” The man nodded, “Me too.”

“Preston, I-” She was cut off by a feral shriek, turning in time to see a lumpy, emaciated body slam into one of the Protectrons near the eatery. It sagged under the weight of the one-armed mutant and turned, keeping itself between them and it as it shook itself to try and get the assailant off of it. “Preston, it’s a Ghoul!”

“Yep, I noticed.” The man nodded, kneeling and cranking his rifle’s handle as the machine fought it. A second joined the first and the Protectron fell, more for weight than damage. Straddling the machine the frail seeming thing reared up to bring both its claws down on the machine. Aiming, the man murmured, “I got it.”

A lance of ferocious red slammed into it before it could, the flesh cooking and melting as the creature was hurled back. The second, distracted by the noise, heat and scent, sat up abruptly and the Protectron acted, claw closing around its forearm and spinning like a blender. The creature’s bones cracked and its flesh tore, the abomination snarling as the robot brought its laser-claw into its stomach and fired. The pulse of angry red gutted it and the machine whirred, yanking it to the side and hurling it away. 

In answer, dozens of hissing and shrieking voices responded, feral and depraved.

“Back to the door, General.” Preston ordered, grabbing the other Laser Musket and rising, shoving the weapon into her arms as he turned. She looked to it and then to him and he shoved a fusion cell into her arms, too. Turning his rifle over he tilted it forward, opening the mechanism at the stock. “Take the old cell out, put a new one in, crank and reload. Alesa,” the girl ‘eeped’ a response and he ordered, “rally the Protectrons at the door. Form a perimeter.”

Four more Ghouls came around the corner as they began to move back, the woman fumbling with the rifle while the Tinker fumbled with the Pip-Boy. Two of the monsters leapt for the Protectron, claws and teeth slamming into metal panels and armor weakly. The glass, though, began to crack under heavy blows, the machine struggling to bring its weapons to bear on the creatures mauling it. 

Wrinkled skin and hissing monstrosities cut off their view of it inside another heartbeat, though. Preston’s Musket cracked as the other four charged them, catching the leftmost one in the stomach and bisecting it. Its fellows ignored its flailing death throes, charging on as the soldier turned to her, still trying to close the breach of the rifle again. Taking it and shoving his rifle into her stomach, its red light dim, he turned and fired again. This shot punched into the head of the new leftmost Ghoul, turning its cranium to ashes and leaving it to tumble into a shelving unit.

Dropping the rifle and drawing an axe out of his belt, he ordered them back and the Protectron from the door in front of him. One Ghoul leapt for it, the door-guard’s damaged servo giving under the heavy creature’s added weight and collapsing. The second scrambled over its flailing, mauling fellow and the machine, leaping for the Minute Man. Snarling he stepped in and brought his axe around, slamming it into the creature’s hip, pitching it to the side.

It rose, hissing, and a laser round slammed into its back. It rolled on the ground in agony and another bit into it, followed by a third, carving it into pieces as the slow robot finally reached them. As it died, the machine whirred a simple, “Protect and Serve.”

Leaving his axe the man dipped low, retrieving the Musket he’d dropped and cranking a fresh, charged shot into the energy catalyst. Raising it he fired a shot that ripped a Ghoul in half, sending it tumbling back in a heap as he charged towards the downed, still robot. Bringing the rifle up, he cracked the last Ghoul across the head. It fell back from the damaged machine, clutching its face, and the soldier stepped over it as he cranked another shot.

A last thrum of energy echoed around them and the fight was over, the man’s chest heaving as the adrenaline began to die down. Turning back to them he asked, “Everyone alright?”

“No we aren’t!” Alexa shouted, sprinting towards him and sliding to a knee beside the downed robot. 

Lifting it up so its head could lay in her lap, she looked over its broken headplate and the damaged sensors inside, lips trembling. Its red light flickered weakly and the machine beeped, warbling a weak, “Protect- Serve- Pr-Pro-Pro…”

“Shshshsh, you’re okay, you’re okay. Right little buddy…?” Its red light flickered again and died, its arms going stiff beside it as the machine died. Hugging it, the girl shook and cried, actually grieving for the lost Protectron. Sighing, she let the machine fall to the ground and shook her head. “Poor guy… They severed his power cable after they broke through his protective housing and he-”

“Anyone else home!” Preston shouted, slamming a boot into a stack of ancient, rusty shopping baskets and then yanking a shopping cart out. When nothing came he sighed and turned to them, “I think it might be actually clear now, General. I’m gonna look for my guys now, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, looking the man up and down worriedly. After a moment, she turned to Alexa, “Set the robots by the door and start gathering up the food here. Load it onto the Vertibird outside while we clear the building. Go nowhere we haven’t been. Understood?”

“Yes, General.” Alexa answered, stooping down to start dragging the broken machine towards the door for salvage.

As upset as she’d been by losing the robot, she was awful quick to drag it off for salvage...

In spite of the Ghouls that had attacked them, the rest of the main store was already cleared up to the pharmacy. Another Minute Man had died in there, pulled over the pharmacy’s internal worktable and then torn apart on it, surrounded by four more of the creatures slumped around the room. A Ghoul, distracted gnawing on a bone, glanced up lazily as they entered and caught a faceful of laser. Its head evaporated and it disappeared behind the counter while Preston stepped around it.

“Damn it.” He turned back to her with an angry near-snarl, pointing a finger at the mangled body and then the bathroom door. “That is Private Leslie, and that is Private Jenkins. That’s three out of five of my people dead, damn it.”

“Preston, you knew this was likely when we came out here.” The words, true as they were, were definitely not the ones to use evidently. The man snarled angrily and turned, slamming his foot down into the dead Ghoul. Taking a step back she sighed and shook her head, “Let’s just clear the building, Preston. I sympathise, I do, but the middle of nowhere isn’t a good place to grieve.”

“Like you’d know about it…” He murmured, brushing past her and back out of the room. 

Unlike the front of the store where the bodies were stacked neatly into piles, the rest looked far more like the pharmacy office had. Ghouls lay where they’d fallen, cracked by laser shots or cut down by a blade. They found yet another body, this one in the store-room, his Laser Musket’s end melted to slag and his heavy mail shirt ripped open. Unlike the others, this man had been more heavily armored, and had a mound of several bodies around him.

A dozen of the things lay around the room, dead from both weapons, and Nora whistled, “What the hell was he made of…?”

“Steel and crazy, General. Steal and crazy.” Preston sighed, looking around the room and shaking his head. “But even he couldn’t have done this kind of damage. Not the Ghouls,” he added suddenly, pointing at some of the pockmarks of around the room, “the laser burns on the walls. They’re too small for Laser Muskets.”

“How do you-” He turned and blasted a shot across the room and into a bare spot of concrete, the shot cracking the stone. “-figure. Yeah, I can see what you mean, now.” The shot from the Musket itself was twice as large as the ones he’d pointed out, which were far smaller. And paced in clusters as if, “These were fired in bursts…”

“My thinking exactly, General.” Preston nodded, turning and heading up the hall with her in tow. The store-room was at least mostly full, canned food and tools of a wide variety stacked up along with the rotted boxes and and long since rotted away produce and meat. As they walked the man talked, “The robots, muskets and stock here will at least make the trip worth it even without… Well, you know.”

“Yeah.” The men, though he didn’t want to say it. It would have been insulting, she guessed, to refer to the resource they were with their corpses around them. “I know what you- Preston look out!”

From the hallway, like they’d been waiting in ambush, two more Ghouls emerged with snarls of rage and hunger. One, armored in old, ruined scraps of combat armor, slammed shoulder first into Preston and continued on with the man bowed over his shoulder. It slammed him into and through a closed door and the two fell in a heap, struggling on the ground. 

The second slammed into her as she tried to draw her ten millimeter, the weapon skittering away as they landed. She should have gone for her axe, tucked into her belt, she realized distantly as her back hit the ground and the Ghoul came down on her. Crouched over her it thrashed her, the woman raising her arms to keep the strikes from hitting her head. Seeing a chance it liked the monster grabbed her right arm in both hands and bit down, deep into the flesh of the inside of her forearm, just where her light armor didn’t cover.

She felt zero shame for screaming like a little girl and hurling expletives at it.

It ripped a chunk out of her arm and she screamed as it reared back, chewing and swallowing the morsel before leaning back in to take another. She tried to ward it off, slamming her fist into it again and again, but it beat her arm back with one of its own. As its teeth sank in again and drew a shriek from her, her free hand closed around the narrow bit of the head of her axe, just under the blade. Yanking it free hard enough it snapped the belt she’d been wearing off, she punched it up into the side of the creature. 

It snarled at the pain that lanced up its side and grabbed her other wrist, pinning it over her head. Evidently done dealing with her resistance it released her injured arm and grabbed her head, yanking it to the sire to expose her throat. As it leaned in she kicked it in the legs, side, even its crotch in spite of the dress it wore, desperate for anything to keep its teeth out of her throat.

Black gloved hands grabbed the creature by the head and neck before it could do anything, though, wrenching it back and up. Turning, the man hurled the Ghoul impossibly far and hard, the creature slamming into the wall hard enough its arm snapped. Drawing a blocky, white and red rifle from its waist, the man let loose a torrent of blue lasers that ripped its limbs from it as it rose. Then it turned its rifle on the armored Ghoul, firing a short burst into it as well, saving Preston while she crawled back and away from the black coat wearing stranger.

“For the wounds.” The man intoned simply, dropping a pristine looking aid kit on her stomach and turning. 

Without another word he turned and left, heading down the stairwell that the Ghouls had come from.

“Who the fuck was that?” Preston demanded as he rushed to her side, the woman wincing and biting back tears, cradling her arm. Pulling it away from her and murmuring an apology, he opened the aid kit and froze. “The hell is this…?”

“Stims and bandages I hope!” She snapped, turning the box in her lap with the intention of getting something for the pain. 

Instead of the messy, old medications she expected, she found pristine, new Stim-Packs and antibiotics. Clean, plastic-packaged, sterile bandages were neatly tucked into one side, and even the instructions were legible. Like the box, all the medicine was inscribed with the same symbol like a stylized, tweaked version of the vitruvian man. 

“It’s so new…” Preston murmured, shocked for a second before he shook it off and grabbed the little white syringe with the hastily ‘Med-X’ label slapped over the ‘morphine’ one, possibly for their benefit. 

Turning her head to the side he injected it straight into her collar before he set to work on her nasty gash. Letting the pain killer kick in she reclined, laying on the cold floor and sighing as he poured the sterilising alcohol over the wound and then reached for the surgical sewing kit and bandages. By the time she heard him rip open the plastic around the absurdly newlooking bandages, she already heard sleep calling her name.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The first thing she registered as she came to once again was the god awful throb in her arm. As though, in tune with her heartbeat, her arm was being ripped up again and again. It brought her back around, along with a chill breeze and the blowing of cloth flaps. While she rested and healed they’d set up camp properly, with a fire outside and the curtains drawn to cover the door and provide them with better shelter. Outside the cloth flaps she could hear heavy, mechanical footsteps.

The Protectrons, she guessed, patrolling the perimeter where the Sentry Bot couldn’t see well. Less for sight or spotting, with the Sentry’s superior scanners, and more for having lasers and targets on that side.

As she sat up in her bedroll she heard the door open and turned to see Preston coming towards her, a box left in the door. Gently he laid his hands on her shoulders, urging her to lay back down, “The wound was pretty bad, Ma’am. You should just lay there and rest up. Those Stims were good, you’re healin’ up fast, but you shouldn’t push it.”

“How bad was it?” Bad enough her arm was encased in bandages and strapped up in a sling, at least.

“It’ll leave a damn fine scar if that’s what you mean.” Preston answered quietly, turning and walking over to the box to fish out god damn Pork’n’Beans for her to eat. At least it came with a Nuka Cola, and she supposed she should count her blessings rather than her bruises. While she ate, he talked, “You been out for about a day, General. Pain meds must’a knocked you for a loop.”

“Or you gave me too much of them.” She still felt a bit woozy, but she wasn’t sure if it was that or the blood she’d lost. Regardless she took a bite of her food and asked, “Any idea who are mysterious stranger was?”

“Not a damn one.” The man sighed, sounding tired in an extreme but reporting regardless, “But he didn’t take anything, and I don’t know how he got out. Stairway leads to a garage. A sealed up garage with the remains of the rest of my team, some Ghouls, and the same laser patterns.”

“Those are at least explained.”

“Yeah, but not the truck sized burn on the floor in the garage.” Her eyes narrowed and he explained as best he could, “Like lightning struck the ground, Ma’am. I’ve never seen anything that can do that. Or someone strong enough to chuck a Ghoul six feet into a wall hard enough to break its arm.”

“Yeah. It was… Strange. He was strange.” That had been interesting, though the pain in her arm had distracted her from it. With no clues to any of it, and not wanting to stew on the mystery, she waved the issue off with her good hand. “He saved our lives, though, so I’m willing to let it lie.”

“By your words.” Preston nodded, sighing and taking a bite of his food. Apparently on the same wavelength about not dwelling on the issue he began to talk in the firm, sterile way of a man relaying a report. “Scavving is going well. Busted ‘bot is loaded up, and we’ve cleared out the front of the store. Pharmacy, too. A handful of Muskets, one scrapped musket from its smuzzle overloading and melting, and lotta meds.”

“Food?”

“Enough for a couple months by itself.” Preston nodded, fishing in his coat for something and grunting. Producing an ancient, small bottle of expensive whiskey and holding it out he smiled and added, “Found some luxuries too, though. Alcohol, some old board games, Nuka Colas of the not normal variety. The works.”

“Good, that’ll all be useful.” She wasn’t a fan of whiskey but, she figured, it would deaden the throb in her arm. And failing that, it would knock her out. Whiskey and other similar hard drinks had always put her to sleep if she drank enough, and laid down. Quietly, and working on the lid with one hand, she asked, “Anything else?”

“Miss Niu is taking apart the chargers for the robots, and then heading to set to work on the fusion generator in the back.” The man smiled and shook his head at that, chuckling. “Got a full triple system back there. One’a those will be enough to power Sanctuary for years. Just gotta let her scrap ‘em.”

“And what are you working on?”

“Uh… Hauling out the crates of provisions, mainly, and getting yelled at to come lift heavy shit for her.” He grunted, pointing at the box that he’d carried from the back of the old market. That had been obvious in retrospect, she supposed. But she blamed the hole in her arm and the whiskey she was sipping around her meal of goddamn Pork’n’Beans for the lapse. 

Whatever the case, Preston went on either way, “A week and a half, she says, and we’ll be able to get out of here. With a truck full of food, drink, and everything we need to set up a power grid for our new home base. All in all,” he smiled, “a damn good scavenging run, General.”

“Yeah, you’re right ‘bout that. S’damn good.” Though they were bringing back as many mysteries, now, as they were supplies. Between the strange symbols written in chalk on the building and their mysterious rescuer, they had a lot of questions she’d like answered. Still, she smiled and laid back, the warmth of the whiskey tugging her towards sleep. Quietly, and slurring, she murmured, “I’m gonna go back to sleep, Preston.”

“Good night, General.” The man chuckled adding, under his breath and at the edge of her hearing, “Okay so she is not a good drinker, then.”

She couldn’t even drum up enough willpower to do much more than grumble at him as she fell asleep.

XxX----XxX----XxX

So I tried going for some more quick, frantic and lethal fights in this chapter rather than my typical long, draw out, tactical brawls. Ghouls seemed a good place to try it on. Lemme know how it felt to you, please.

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Misdirection :

Glad you like it!

Scrub Lord :

I’ve hinted at what she is doing, and what she is and how she is acting, a few times actually. None have picked up on it yet~

Flintlock :

You’re fine, friend~!


	12. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained - Finale

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All in all it took nearly a month to get out to the Super Duper Mart and then loot the place for all they could carry. They’d nearly died, lost a robot, and she’d lost a hunk of her arm that even a week of stims later bore a nasty, lumpy scar for the Ghoul’s attention that stretched from her elbow to her wrist and looked like someone had taken a spoon and carved a rough trough out of her flesh. It still hurt, too, freshly pink and still healing, so they kept her arm in a sling while the robots ran perimeter and Preston lent his back and arms to Alexia to carry crates and salvage out.

And hey, as much as the aging wound hurt, it was at least a good enough excuse to snag the whiskey they found for herself. A vice, she knew, but the ache of her scar called for some kind of medicine that wasn’t the ludicrously old, straight morphine. Less addictive at least, and less likely to have warped into something deadly for time as well. Preston only ever raised an eyebrow in question whenever she replaced her bottle, but her simple explanations always silenced it. Though he did seem to go out of his way to collect her used whiskey bottles, adding them to the crate of bottles they planned to use to bottle the clean water that the Vault over-produced.

That, she suspected, would be even more trouble eventually, on top of the rest of her troubles.

She couldn’t say that the trouble hadn’t been worth every bit of literal blood, sweat and tears they’d put into it, though. Wounded though she had been, her legs were fine, and so all three of them had been made to walk beside the Sentry Bot as it dragged their cumbersome load along at a steady, if slowed, pace. Even if they’d been aboard, they wouldn’t have been able to speed their pace along. The scavenging truck was laden with too much, its doors sealed to keep the messy pile of weapons and fusion generator parts where they’d been crammed in and the hundreds of pounds of food and drink they’d collected with it.

Sore feet and her arm in a sling weren’t the worst prices to pay for that kind of payoff, in her opinion. And hey, the sling made for a decent place to set her half-emptied bottle of whiskey, too.

“Hurts that bad, Ma’am?’ Preston asked from beside her when she took a sip from it. She hummed a question and he sighed, stepping closer to her but keeping himself in front of her and Alexa both to better protect them, “Does your arm hurt that bad, General? You’ve been nursin’ that bottle since we left this morning.”

“Uh, nah.” She shook her head, screwing the cap back on and setting it in her sling. “Stings like a mother, but it’s bearable.” She wiggled her sling a bit to make a point and added, with a smirk, “Little sip now and again keeps the pain down. That’s all, Preston, you don’t have to worry.”

“Uh huh. If you say so, General.” He nodded, and then shrugged, moving back to where he was supposed to walk in their formation. Louder and smiling, he announced, “I see the old Red Rocket comin’ up ladies and robots.”

“Command not recognized.” The Sentry Bot rumbled almost anxiously, assuming that the ‘robots’ part had been meant for it. When Preston only stammered uselessly, surprised by the machine’s words, it straightened and began to whir its weapon to life confusedly. “Please rephrase your-”

“Hey, hey, calm down big guy.” Alexa was quick to chime, anxious and energetic. In spite of not having any technical command over it without going through the Pip-Boy, the machine seemed to regard her and listen. Soothingly, she laid a hand on its armored leg as it trundled on and smiled, “He wasn’t ordering you to do anything, and there’s no danger. Stand down for now.”

“...Affirmative.”

“How did you…?” She gestured at the robot to finish her question and the woman smiled awkwardly, like a kid caught in something.

“I added myself as a technician, so it listens to me unless we’re in a fight even without the Pip-Boy… Sort of, at least.” At a raised eyebrow, the woman chuckled awkwardly and anxiously, running her fingers through her greasy hair. Rambling, she explained, “I figured that this way you could keep the Pip-Boy whenever you wanted. And I wouldn’t need to come find you whenever I needed to maintain him, since the controls and diagnostics are run through it. I still made sure that you two were over me, though.”

“Here.” She sighed, shaking her head and working to get the little machine off her good arm. Confused, Niu took the offered Pip-Boy and Nora explained quickly and authoritatively, so Preston would know her decision wasn’t up in the air, “You’re our ‘Bot expert, so keep it. As long as you’re fine with being on field ops, it’s yours.”

“Y-You want me on… Field operations?”

“I want you to keep the robots in good shape, and restore any more we find when we go scavenging.” She answered by way of explanation as they made the turn to head up the last hill to the Red Rocket. “Your hands for maintenance and scavenging, your eyes for finding good salvage, and your expertise in breaking it down and packing it up without damaging it. As long as you’re-”

“I’m in!”

“-willing, of course.” Nora chuckled as they reached the Red Rocket and pulled in to wait. Laughing, she gave the woman a nod and turned to Preston. “We’ll post a perimeter here. Go get the guys to come and lug this crap over the bridge, I don’t trust that old wooden piece of crap to hold the robots, Vertibird and supplies.”

“Yes, General.” He snapped, salute and all, before turning to jog off as she’d ordered him to.

“I-I have a condition!” Alexa suddenly added once he was gone, the significantly older - chronologically speaking, at least - woman turning to her with a raised brow. Swallowing her anxiety, she explained, “I-If I’m running field operations with you, then… Then I want a real rank. A-And a uniform, too, when we can make them.”

“You want a… Uniform?” Nora blinked slowly but Alexa only nodded, face pinched with an odd kind of effort and anxiety. Quietly, Nora asked, “You know that means people might target you. Right? I mean, you won’t look like a Tinker if you’re in uniform.”

“That’s fine. Or, well, not fine, but I’m fine with it.” She nodded, apparently set in her decision and just praying that the general would approve. “I'll learn to use a Laser Musket and fight. Just like Preston and Stanley did, and just like my robots will. Er, well, not exactly like my robots- You get my point!”

“I do, yeah, I think.” And she saw no reason to deny the young woman either. If she ended up dying in the field, then it would be a tragedy, but they still had Sturges to fall back on for Tinker duties. That much had already been noted when she decided to include her with the field team anyway, so if this made her happy… “When we can make one, we’ll get you a uniform. Until then, I want you to spend two hours a day drilling with Preston or Stanley.”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am!” The Tinker eagerly clapped, smiling widely. “I can’t wait!”

“Yeah, I bet you can’t...” She’d regret her enthusiasm when Preston started putting her through her paces, she was willing to bet. She turned her attention away from the excitable little gearhead as Preston came jogging back down the road, sans the help she’d sent him for. “Preston? Where’s the hands to haul the loot in?”

“Waiting on the other side of the bridge, General.” The man explained, beaming a wide, toothy smile at her and jerking his head back the way he’d come. Still smiling, he explained, “Turns out, folk have been hard at work while we popped down to the corner store. And, well I guess you should just come see it yourself, Ma’am.”

“If you say so…” She gave the Sentry Bot a look and then shrugged, waving it forward. “Follow the man then, robot.”

While they’d been gone, her people had indeed been hard at work, and the effort was visible right at the entry into the settlement. 

The ancient, shoddy wooden bridge that she’d always hated was gone entirely. In its place was another wooden bridge, this time flat and made of logs supported by the massive stone chunks that had fallen from Sanctuary’s riverside wall. It wasn’t a fancy bridge by any means, the man-sized stone bricks laid in three lines spaced out across the river and the logs held together by what looked like salvaged wooden planks from the old bridge, secured together by heavy nails salvaged from the old houses that had now been reduced to nothing but a handful of metal heaps. Under the bridge on either side, wire mesh from the Vault’s old fencing had been stretched across the gaps to keep pests out but let the water flow freely.

On the other side of the bridge, up a slight incline and set back just behind the old, stone bridge-posts that had been left up, a heavy log gate like the fort’s had been added. Like the walls of the fort itself, sections of the metal roof tiling had been stuck to its front in an effort to protect the logs behind them. The gate itself swung back to admit them as they trundled in, its roof made high enough for even the Vertibird chassis to slip under it and the gate itself wide enough to admit it through as well. 

Above them a wide walkway made of logs and well-attached to the structure of the gate had been added, posts far to either side under neath two sets of stairs making sure it wouldn’t fall easily. Above the walkway, she noticed as she stepped through and turned to look up, more sections of old roofing had been layered to provide shelter for those on guard duty. The man currently on shift waved to them and turned back, cracking a large handle to swing the gate shut behind them.

“Here!'' Preston shouted, pulling the transport to a stop and reaching in awkwardly through the old pilot window to drag out a Laser Musket. He left it leaning against some steps along with a few Fusion Cells and gave the man a nod, “In case anything shows up, you have somethin’ better than a long stick to poke ‘em with!”

“Thank ye, Sir!” The man called, moving from his post to retrieve the weapon. Hefting it, he gave the simple weapon a look over and then cranked it experimentally.

They left him to it, bringing their little caravan to a halt off to the right, where a house had once sat. Now, it was an empty lot, which made for a convenient parking space for the Vertibird caravan. The space was tight and when she ordered it in, the machine paused to calculate its route for a few seconds. But after a moment, it trundled up the road and turned, bumping through the dirt and snaking its way onto the paved area to park in much the same way a horse and buggy might have. Conveniently, with the way it had twisted so the outer edge of the connection faced away from the road, it sheltered the Vertibird behind its armored bulk and had its heavy cannon aimed squarely at the gate.

“General!” Sturges called as he jogged up, hair matted by oil and sweat and covered up to his knees in both wet and dried mud. His eyes landed on her simplistic little sling and his smile fell, the man’s brows furrowing in worry. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’m fine.” She assured him, lifting the arm to show the sling wasn’t strictly needed, even if she was still using it. Nestling it back into the little cloth strap, she explained quickly, “We got into the ‘Mart and ran into some Ghouls, like we expected. Protectrons helped, but one got me on my back and took a chunk out of my arm.”

“Then some stranger in a black coat rolled in and saved our asses.” Preston added, shrugging when she turned a scolding look on him. She only shrugged in return and gestured for him to go on and, confused somewhat, he did as a handful of Settlers began to sprinkle in around them. “His coat was padded and black, and he overpowered the Ghouls. Threw one clear across a room and then lit ‘em up in blue laser fire, full auto but right on target. Dropped some meds at our feet and then just… Sorta vanished.”

“Creepy…” Sturges murmured, those around him murmuring their own various adjectives to the same effect. Anxious, the man asked, “A padded black coat, you said…?” She nodded and he grimaced, but shook it off quickly and shrugged. “Well, you made it back alive, and that’s a win to me any way you slice it.”

“Yeah, we did.” She smiled, “And we made a pretty good score, too.”

As though prompted by her words, Preston turned and grabbed a handle, pulling it back slowly to make sure nothing had shifted in the trip and would fall out. Seeing the bounty inside, the assembled Settlers cheered excitedly and when she gave the order, set to work hauling everything back out of the Vertibird eagerly. The weapons and expensive Fusion Generator parts were hauled up towards the Fort itself without any delay, the general and her people unwilling to leave them exposed to the elements - or unwanted eyes - for even a heartbeat longer than was strictly necessary. 

The rest was simply hauled out and set down, arrayed around in a loose smattering around the craft while Sturges kept count of what was brought out. He was the one that spoke to her first, grunting, “We need a proper storage warehouse to get this stuff into, General. The food we can haul up to be refrigerated. Bottles, too. But the robot parts, their charging units…”

“Yeah, I get it.” She nodded, looking up to the thankfully clear sky and sighing. “How comes the farm, first?”

“Got men clearing trees a ways to the northwest of here.” He answered, pointing back over his shoulder just off to the left of the Fort. “Thin limbs and brush for firewood, thicker ones for light construction, leaves for fertilizer and logs for… Well, for logs. Good for construction, and we needed more. All the ones good for it around here were used on the palisade.”

“How are you getting them back?” Without the robot, they’d have to use their own backs, which… Would slow things down, to say the least.

“Herd of a couple dozen Brahmin wandered by across the river there. Basically mutant cows,” he added when she gave him a questioning look, one brow raised and head cocked to the side, “they’re really docile if you know how to handle ‘em. Few of the farmers spent the day bribing them in with wild feed, got sixteen of them before the herd wandered off. Ropes and chains for straps and they’re hauling wood up in the water.”

“So they don’t have to lift all the weight or do more than steer.” The concept was an old one loggers had used often, sending logs along rivers and using long sticks to keep them under control. Easier than carrying them on men’s shoulders, or using horses or whatever, in some places. “Clever.”

“Yeah, Joe thought so.” Sturges chuckled, “We got some progress already done on the other side of the little hill, if you wanna take a look see. I can start plannin’ a spot for a scavenger’s warehouse while you do, if you want.”

Nodding, she left him and the others to their work, trotting away and up the slight hill to look out on where the river split around Sanctuary.

The water slowed at the western edge of Sanctuary, artificially diverted around to either side and broken up by a handful of tiny islets that had been mounded up for the purpose centuries prior. Trees had been planted there as well that now stood tall, roots spindling out into the water around the islets. Their workers had added more soil to the roots, bolstering them and using the trees as a sort of path marker, between each spanned walkways made of logs lashed and nailed together and topped by metal. 

The several feet of open, lazily flowing water had been pockmarked by ten moderately large mounds of soil dug up around the Fort, where the walls had needed it cleared away. The mounds themselves were only seemingly about ten feet in diameter, framed out by more of the stone bricks from the embankment wall that had been used for the bridge. In a way it kind of reminded her of rice paddies, though inverted with water for walls around the dirt inside it, rather than dirt walls raised up to hold water in. Mostly, the walkways spanning between reminded her of it, along with the shape.

A strange little set-up but it meant that they wouldn’t need to water crops, she guessed, given the soil would be continuously saturated.

A handful of farmers tended to them, digging in the mud and burying what she guessed were seeds. Others toted log bridges into place between the spread out squares, so that they could walk between the fields without having to wade through the water to do it. They seemed happy enough to be working on a ‘field’ and without a slave holder glaring down on them. Though she did not envy them for having to work in the frigid water and mud. 

They had to be colder than they looked, at least, smiling and laughing or not.

Beyond them she could see a few tired looking men walking along the shoreline, a herd of odd, two-headed cattle walking in the water to their rights. Between each pair were clusters or five or six logs as thick as she was, floating in a jumble and being tugged along by the burden-beasts. Turning, she began to make her way to the gate and called out a warning, “I think the logging group is back, Sturges!”

“Thank ya kindly, General!” He called back from among the heap of crates and electronics, pausing to order another load of more valuable scrap hauled up to the Vault for safe-keeping. While he worked she went on her way, climbing the nicely made stairs with her good hand on the railing.

All the while, she couldn’t help wondering how the hell Sturges had sanded them so smoothly without any proper tools. Witchcraft, she was sure...

“M-Ma’am.” The young man on top of the gate nodded when she reached him. He was young and wiry, wearing little more than a simple hide coat and awkwardly holding his borrowed Laser Musket. She nodded and, awkward as the kid he looked like would be, he waved weakly, “U-Uh, Hi… Can I… Help you?”

“No, but you can go help them.” She answered, jerking a thumb towards the workers back and below. When his brow furrowed in confusion and anxiety, not understanding much more than that he would be in trouble if he left his post, she sighed and gestured with her injured arm to get his attention. “I’m too hurt to help them, you aren’t. If anyone questions you, just say I ordered you to and took over.”

“I guess…” He trailed off, waiting for more, but when she didn’t offer anything he shrugged and left to do as he’d been told.

With him gone she sighed and sat on the little wooden chair that had been set up there for the watchmen to sit while they watched the bridge. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it did the job well enough. And a sip of the little bottle of whiskey did plenty to stop the aching in her rear from the chair, and her arm from the Ghoul bite. She was a terrible shot, but really, the bridge wasn’t that wide and she felt more like an alarm than an impediment.

If anyone did attack, she’d just open the gate and let them attack the robot behind it. Whoever was dumb enought to was welcome to try...

She only got to enjoy her quiet time for about an hour before the sound of heavy boots on the stairs reached her, alongside the tinkling of chainmail and the rustling of a familiar duster’s long tails. Before he even said anything she sighed, “Hey, Preston. How’s it going out there with the boys?”

“And girls.” The man chuckled, setting a stool down beside her and leaning his rifle against the wall. Taking his seat he sighed, “Got a handful of ladies down there lendin’ hands. And Miss Alexa is already workin’ on the Fusion Generator.”

“Of course she is.” That one wasn’t likely to stop working unless someone forced her to. Particularly where technology and tinkering were concerned. Setting her bottle at her feet she asked, already amused and knowing the likely answer, “Have you tried getting her to ease off, before she overdoes it?”

“Yep.” He chuckled, adopting his best attempt at a young woman’s voice, “‘Not until my babies have power!’”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Adorable little workaholic...” Nora chuckled, the man’s own laugh joining hers for a short moment. A loud clang from behind pulled their attention and they turned to watch Sturges fuss over a Protectron leg that some settlers had dropped. “Alexa wants you to train her to fight, so she can come out scavenging with us in a uniform.”

“What? She wants to- What?” He almost snapped, blinking owlishly and gaping like a fish. Finally, he managed to breathe and shook his head, turning to her, “General, we can’t. She’s a Tinker, but if she’s in uniform and fighting, she won’t have the Tinker’s Protection anymore. Noone would believe her if she invoked it and even if they did, then they’d call us down for putting Tinkers in uniform!”

“So?” She asked, raising an eyebrow quietly, “It’s her choice. I made it as clear as I could.”

“But General-”

“We need every rifleman we can get, Preston. And a volunteer one is better than a conscript any day, aren’t they?” She cut him off, turning to him and meeting his eyes for a brief moment. When he only nodded quietly, clearly unsure of what to say, she sighed and turned back to the bridge, drumming the fingers of her good hand on her leg. “She wants to help us. And having her eyes and hands out there, in the field, will be useful for bringing in better salvage.”

“But-”

“But it’s dangerous?” She cut him off, raising an eyebrow at him challengingly and smirking, “Like taking her into the Super Duper Mart basically unarmed and definitely untrained even though we know that there are Ghouls in there?”

“We left her at the door and under guard, though, General.” He argued simply, pursing his lips and sighing after a second as he carried the logic forward. “But if they’d gotten us, she’d have been pretty much defenceless… A pistol wouldn’t do shit against a handful of Ghouls unless you knew how to use it. She’s smart but I doubt she’d keep her cool to fight ‘em off effectively like that.”

“Exactly.” Nora nodded, glad the man was as smart as she’d hoped. Smart enough to kill the argument himself, when he followed his own logic through. “So she wants to learn, and work for the Minutemen officially. And I’ve approved it. I want you and Stanley to train her yourselves, so we have no chance of losing her.”

“I don’t like it.” He murmured, shaking his head and watching the bridge with her. “And the Commonwealth won’t like us for doin’ it either. Risking Tinkers isn’t seen very well by anybody, tribal or nah.”

“Is it against the Wasteland Code?” That would be a problem, she was more than sure. And as much as she liked Alexa’s idea, she wouldn’t put one woman’s dream above the entirety of the Minutemen’s usefulness in finding her son.

And, you know, in doing their jobs at protecting the citizenry, of course.

“Technically, no, but it definitely flaunts some of the guidelines and ideals enough to peeve some people. Still, it isn’t technically in violation, so...” He sighed and shrugged and, finally, shook his head. “I don’t like it. But I told you that if you wanted to do something and it wasn’t evil, I’d back you. So make the call, General.”

“Start teaching her to shoot, and issue her a Laser Musket that we brought back. She can tinker on it to her liking and you can teach her how to soldier at least enough that she can function.” She saw his grimace and for once understood, seeing as each of those weapons had been assigned to men and women he’d lost in the field. Before he could say anything or dwell on it she turned enough to lay a hand on his forearm and smiled reassuringly, “Their deaths aren’t your fault. You were desperate and did your best.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, “Tell them that.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” She tried, “I’m here if you need to, you know. You just have to-”

“I’ll talk about my dead Minute Men when you are ready to talk about your husband and the Great War.” She flinched away from him, hand snapping off his arm like she’d been burned, and he sighed, shaking his head and walking back towards the stairs. He hesitated at the top of them for a moment, one hand on the railing and foot tapping. Finally, while she tried to process, he tossed back, “I’ll go right now to help Miss Niu get the genny set up and then get her trained up like you want, General. And… Yeah. Have a good day, General.”

That said, he took his leave and the woman turned back to the bridge, sitting in silence for a moment and trying to breathe. Finally, she yanked the whiskey bottle up and tossed its cap away, taking a long draught of the ancient alcohol. 

The drink didn’t steady the shaky breath she let out, nor calm the sudden ache in her chest, but it did center her a bit. At least enough for her to murmur, “Damn it, Preston… If I didn’t need you...”

But she did, and so she killed the mere thought before it could take root and fester. Now if only she’d thought to kill what Nate had made her feel when she met him, she’d never have gotten into this mess… Of course, she’d also be dead, so swings and very, very shitty roundabouts, she supposed.

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So I’m a bit dumb sometimes, but I think the Fallout 4 map is oriented so the ocean is on the East straight, and Sanctuary in the North. Not directly north of the center of the city, of course, but still. In the North. My direction mentions here bear that in mind. If I’m wrong, my apologies and I’ll work on tweaking it.

I also had trouble finishing the chapter… Sorry.

Hope you enjoyed and stay safe out there!

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Misdirection :

There’s irony to be seen in what plans I have for the Institute. Interestingly, you mentioned it here. The Institute seems here to be less sociopathic than in the game, while Nora is herself more of one. Were I as good an author as I wish, I’d say that was on purpose, XD.

Kelborn Ordo :

Thank you! I’m rather proud of it. I’ve AU’d a bit in numerous fics but it’s never quite been as smooth and quality as this one.

Nick (Guest) :

Yep! The Institute helping, a Courser, odd symbols - some of which are not in the game - to suss out… Layers! Like an on- Okay, yeah, I’ll leave.


	13. Departure

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“Easy now, kid.” Mama Murphy chided gently as she worked, exercising the wounded limb with as close to a weight as she could find in the form of a chunk of concrete and rebar pulled from the scrap heaps. Watching her, the woman murmured, “No sense in rushin’ and just hurtin’ yourself even more.

“I know.” She growled, lifting the thing in her weakened arm and gritting her teeth. As it touched her shoulder she sighed and dropped the offending thing at her feet, “Twenty. God damn this shouldn’t be so hard”

“You done good enough, kid. Lost a lot of muscle in that bite, so you should feel good ‘bout what you got back.” Mama Murphy complimented, easing back in her seat under the cover that the gate’s wood and metal watchpost offered. 

A spot with less of a view, aside from the robot and the past week’s work on the new storehouse. But apparently, she liked listening to the river while she relaxed, and Nora couldn’t fault her for it. And with most of the work going on down by the river, between the developing farms and the storehouse construction, her semi-self-appointed job as the cook for the workers dictated she move down.

“I know, damn it. It’s just… Annoying.” She grumbled, curling and uncurling her hand to ease the ache in it. When that failed she sighed and laid it across her lap, sling long since abandoned, and grabbed her whiskey with her other hand. Mama Murphy’s eyes followed the bottle up and down and Nora sighed, more for how obvious she was about it than that she was looking at all. “Don’t you start too, Mama. My arm hurts and that’s all.”

“I believe you.” She nodded, tapping her nose as though to say she could smell it. “I’m just worried about it hurting so badly you’re still drinking…”

“A-Ah, well...” And now she felt kind of bad for snapping at her. But it hadn’t come from nowhere, and she took the opportunity to complain and wave her snappishness away. Two birds with one stone, as they said at least back in her day. “It’s just Preston. I don’t know why, but my damn arm won’t stop throbbing sometimes. And the whiskey helps, even if it doesn’t really help. You understand?”

“I do, yes. Drink and drugs are both common enough solutions for people with injuries like yours.” Mama Murphy nodded, watching the workers behind her going about their day and stirring the soup with one hand. The cookpot, having been broken down and hauled to the gate for her, bubbled warmly and smelled wonderful as always. “So long as you aren’t daft about it, I doubt anyone will care about what you’re doing.”

“Preston does.” He rarely said anything, of course, but she saw him watching. Felt it. And it felt judgemental. Trying to be charitable, though, she went on, “I mean, maybe he doesn’t mean it in any bad kind of way. Hell, he might not even realize he’s doing it. But he is, and it’s annoying and degrading.”

“Mhm. He’s a worrier, that’s for certain, yeah.” She nodded, smiling almost mirthfully at the statement. She’d known him for longer than Nora had and, she supposed, was the kind to reminisce. Spooning the hot soup into a little wooden bowl and holding it out for Nora to take, the woman asked quietly, “Have you tried talking to him?”

“I have, actually, yeah. A few times, in fact.” She answered with a nod, easing back into her chair and enjoying the warmth of the meal in her hands as well as the smell. The winter had started rapidly chilling over the last week, and as nice as her coat was, the heat of the food fire and the bowl were massive comforts. “We’ve had it out every time he mentions it, which he has a couple of times.”

“No, no, no. I said talking to him, kid. Not having a row with him.” The old woman sighed, shaking her head in that old, world weary way that the elderly did sometimes. She pursed her lips and cocked her head and Mama Murphy took the invitation for what it was. “Way I’ve heard it, you’ve argued with him. Not talked it through with him. And given your arm still aches this long after the fact, I think you need to.”

“Yeah well, I don’t think I need to.” She shrugged, not even bothering to contest the assertion since it’s core was so faulty in and of itself. She did have one point that Nora couldn’t evade, though, and her arm throbbed to remind her of it. “What do you think we need to do about my arm, then?”

“Go and see a doctor, obviously, kid. Or a clinic, or whatever.” She answered with a shrug, bobbing her head back and towards the gate. Nora’s brow rose and the woman went on, “The best one ‘round the Commonwealth is down in Diamond City. A place you gotta get to one way or another as it is, to start lookin’ for your boy.”

That prospect had her both excited and terrified, the former for the chance to start her search and the latter for the likelihood of it failing. At least at Diamond City, which was a good start but one she was certain wouldn’t on its own accomplish anything. Stammering and wide eyed, and knowing how dumb it looked on her, she asked, “D-Do you really think that’s a good idea right now?”

“Better now than in a year when we’re at war with…” She snorted and blew a breath out through her nose in a little laugh, “At war with someone, I’m sure. The Minute Men don’t exactly make friends, and Sanctuary being a real settlement puts us at odds with basically everyone nearby. And besides,” she added, pointed the spoon at her arm, “you lose that arm and you’re ruined out here.”

“I’m not just a gun arm.” Hell, even functioning she was only a decent shot. “I’m useful even without my right arm.”

“I believe ya, kid. I believe ya.” Mama Murphy nodded, though both brows raised in a small challenge as she added, “But are you exactly as valuable as the you with both arms as you are the you with one arm? And even if you are… Do you want to suffer through that if you can avoid it?”

“I… Guess I see your point.” She sighed, though, knowing it would be a pain and tapping her foot anxiously for it. It couldn’t be much worse than the dull throbbing, though, and so she stood and dusted herself off a bit, keeping her bowl of food in her good hand to eat as she went. “I’ll… Go find Preston then, I guess. And explain everything to him so we can sort out whatever the hell we’re going to do.”

“You do that.” The old woman nodded, “And good luck.”

“With preston or Diamond City…?” Mama Murphy didn’t answer, though, only chuckling to herself and waving her away. 

Shrugging, Nora turned to leave, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t exactly going to get Mama Murphy not to play the ‘mysterious old lady’ persona she seemed to enjoy so damn much.

“Lemme see it, General.” Preston grunted when she found him and explained what she and Mama Murphy had been talking about, slogging on patrol around the paddy-esque farms on the other side of where the storehouse would soon be. She held her arm out and turned it over, so the man could hold his rifle in one arm and inspect her wound with the other. Whistling, he shook his head, “Damn, General… I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Mhm.” Where the wound had been a stretch of pink skin expanded, as wide as her thumb and depressed half as deeply into the flesh of her arm. Gently, the man touched the skin around the old scar and she hissed, teeth drawing back as the pressure stretched the skin. His eyes snapped to hers and she explained, “Whenever it moves it hurts like it did when I got bit. You’re stretching it.”

“Sorry.” His hand snapped away like he’d been burned and he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Watching the river and scanning the other bank as he did, the man thought for a while until he almost snarled, “Damn it all to hell... This is why you’ve kept the drink. Cuz the damn musculature ain’t helin’ up the way it oughta, so it hurts like a real bastard. That about right?”

“Y-Yeah. It does.” She nodded, cradling the arm across her stomach in the most comfortable way she could. She’d have told him it did if he’d asked, but he hadn’t. And now he had so easily changed his mind, she felt… Awkward, as usual, when something like this happened. Looking for an out, she went on, “Mama Murphy said I needed to get to seeing a doctor. And the best one around is down in the city.”

“More of a clinic, but yeah.” He sighed, blowing a breath out through puffed cheeks. “They don’t travel, so they’ll be there. But how to pay them is the real problem. We’re not exactly stacked on Caps at the moment. Or trading goods, even if that last run has us stocked up pretty decent.”

“We want most of it for ourselves, so we can’t trade it away.” She guessed, earning a nod for her effort. It made sense, really. The fusion generator would have gone for a fortune, as would the robots, and even the Muskets would have gone for decent prices. But they wanted all of it. “We can stow up most of the alcohol to trade. How good would that go?”

“Decently enough, but probably not enough for surgery and post-op treatments. And that will need a lot of both.” He chewed on his lip for a long time until, finally, he sighed like a man with the weight of the world on his back. “Only thing we really produce in enough of to try ‘n trade is purified water, thanks to the Vault. But Diamond City produces plenty. Food, too, so even when we get the crops running nicely it won’t help.”

“Well…” If they needed caps that badly, then, “What… What about The Assembly?”

“You want to trade with Raiders?” The man’s words were a bit loud, and a few farmers a handful of yards away turned towards them curiously. He smiled and waved a greeting, then made an excuse that had them back to work. Quiet, but equally angry, he kept his back to the workers and demanded again, “General, tell me I heard you wrong. Please tell me you didn’t just suggest tradin’ with the damn raiders.”

“I am, actually, yeah.” He scowled but, good man that he was, waited while she explained as cogently as she could. “We need things, Preston. Medicine, a trip to the doctor, hell even safe passage through old Lexington and Concord would be pretty damn nice. And frankly, we aren’t in a position to go to war with a faction that seems to respect us well enough. And like us, too.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do.” He sighed, “Otherwise they’d probably have marched up here to take Sanctuary already.”

“I know you don’t enjoy the idea of engaging with them due to how they run, but there’s an economic and political theory I wrote about once that I think you should understand.” He raised a brow and she smiled. Preston was a good, honest kind of man. The kind she could steer a bit, if she couched things properly. “Alright, so, throughout history there have been two kinds of approaches to changing how foreign bodies operate. One was conquest or war, and then either subsuming the nation in question or just forcing new laws into place.”

“Like a puppet tribe.” Preston offered, the woman cocking her head in question. Pursing his lips, he explained, “Sometimes tribes don’t wipe each other out, or take territories. One just sorta… Agrees to abide by the terms of the other. Like servants but… Still their own tribe, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Puppeting governments, factions and tribes had existed for centuries, as a concept and as a practice. And since he already knew that much, he’d at least saved her some of the explaining. “Well, doing that is possible in more than just the one way. You can also trade them into submission. Find a need you can fill for cheap, and do it, until they are dependent on you for it. Then take that and press them into changing policies and laws. Do it well enough, you can even subjugate them or integrate them.”

“I get it, yeah… S’not a bad plan, I like it.” He nodded, already more pleased by the idea than when she’d started. In a tone that told her he wanted to help, now, rather than argue, he went on, “Inside the old cities like that, water is a premium, too. The old sewers are full of, well, shit and the few places water collects aren’t enough.”

“So we sell ‘em mclean purified water, and trade for access, friendship, slaves- To free them.” She was quick to amend when he gave her a look, chuckling under her breath. Smiling, she went on, “Manpower for cheap, freed slaves, trade relations making the Assembly like us… Later we can get access to their armor, too, if we need it. And then, when we have ‘em hooked on our goods, we start making demands.”

“A little underhanded for my tastes…”

“But it works.” She argued, “And it keeps as many people alive as possible.”

“Yeah, it does do that.” The man nodded, giving her a long look and then smiling. Bright and happy again, he turned and cocked his head towards Sanctuary. “Looks like I was worried ‘bout the wrong thing, General. Give the order and we can get the caravan loaded up, and get your arm fixed up.”

“We need to get the storehouse finished first, Preston.” The Vertibird had been refilled with a lot of the goods while they built it. “It’s only a couple days away, though, so… I think I’ll live to see it.”

“If you’re sure, General…” She nodded and the man sighed, turning to head back to the bank on the other side of the farms. “I’ll get ‘em to work, then, General. You just take it easy and eat anything that ain’t Pork’nBeans for the next couple’a days. Once we hit the road south, odds are s’all we’ll be eating.”

“...Motherfucking Pork’n’Beans.”

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It wound up taking four days to get the warehouse finished up finally, built tall and well so it would last. The building had been drafted and constructed much like the log cabins atop Sanctuary Fort’s hill had been, but taller by two times and wider by three. The bottom had two one-story tall barn doors, one to either end, to allow people to carry in freight of any and every size. It was made much like the smaller doors to the sides of the barn doors, of logs cut to size, bound and then framed in scrap metal beaten into a perfect, if rusty and rugged looking, shape.

The second floor was accessed by covered steps on the long sides of either side of the building, ending in wide porches that ran from the halfway point of the building to the corner. These made little sitting areas, propped up by ‘L’ beams and posts every few feet, for people to work and socialise. Inside were two crossing hallways with rooms down either stretch. Some were bedrooms for scavengers, farmers and whoever else to stay. The rest were offices, to keep stock and allocate resources as and where needed. A wood-fire heating element in the center of the warehouse section supplied heat to the building through carefully placed metal pipes. Even now, half a dozen chimneys puffed its smoke as it warmed the building.

“It’s kinda quaint looking, honestly.” Almost like something out of pictures from before the war, of the idyllic frontiersmen life of centuries before. Less idealistic than pretended after the fact, of course, and now one they were back in.

“I hope you like it.” Preston grunted as he hefted another log-made crate into the Vertibird, the tinkling of water bottles inside reaching her over his voice as he straightened. Leaning against the step that led up and into the craft, he waved a hand up the cracked old road and smiled, “Sturges is drawing up housing and craft building plans right now.”

“Craft buildings?”

“A workshop for him, for one.” He answered swiftly, watching another man come up with a smallish crate of water. Gently, they hefted it up onto the platform and then left, and Preston continued. “The rest… I mean, mostly we can’t plan more than a couple farmer’s houses, but we want to get the housing up and zone it. Latrines, showers and toiletry systems, too.”

“Oh yeah.” She blinked, “Toilets. I hadn’t thought about how to deal with that, actually. Up in the Vault, we have them, so...”

“Yeah, I get it. Hard to forget about toilets when we have ‘em all free and clean.” Preston laughed, shaking his head in a simultaneously amused and impressed sort of way, “Don’t stress about it none, though, General. I’d say you’ve been on the ball with plenty enough to get the right to forget a thing or three. You don’t got to be a perfectionist to do a good job you know.” 

“I guess…” She sighed, shaking her head and chewing on her lip a little. “Nate always said that too.” He gave her a look that was as much interest as surprise at her mentioning him, and she knew why. “I know, I avoid talking about him, but… That’s not healthy and I only did it because I needed to stay focused. Here and now. But if we’re leaving anyway then being so focused is less important.”

“That makes sense, yeah.” He nodded, “So you… Wanna talk about it, then?”

“Not yet, no. When I start, I’ll get upset and ranty, and start chugging Whiskey like you wouldn’t believe. For my arm and for… Yeah.” She would when they were underway. Preston’s nose crinkled ever so slightly at the mention of drinking but he understood her reasons why and seemed to put it away. Something that she sincerely appreciated. Regardless, “I don’t want them to see that from their General. It’s not good for authority or morale.”

“I hear that, yeah.” He cut off as the final crate of water, leaving the Vertibird half full between the water and their own provisions, was hoisted into the craft. Pushing off, he clapped the man on the shoulder and smiled his thanks, “Good work, all around. Tell everyone to take fifteen before getting back to it.”

“Yes, uh, Lieutenant General.” The rank was wrong, to say the least, but neither she nor Preston elected to chide the man. She recognized him as someone saved from the Outcasts a while back and so, as Preston probably did, didn’t expect him to know rank very well. As he shuffled off, he called back, “Uh, thanks, by the way. For… You know, everything. It’s nice to have a place again.”

“All in a day’s work for the Minute Men.” She answered, smiling comfortingly like she’d practiced. “We’ll be gone for a while, but I expect you’ll get through everything before we get back. Once the Fort is done, get the settlement walled up and developed. Then we’ll really be safe.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded, looking over the road with the kinds of eyes that were looking for answers. In this case, where to build what, and how. “I’ll make sure everything runs well, even if somethin’ gets wild. Chances like this… You aren’t guaranteed a lot of ‘em.”

“We’ve already done some good here, General.” Preston murmured as the man left to join his fellows on their break. Climbing into the Vertibird he turned and knelt, offering her a hand up and smiling. “Let’s get on, now, and get some more good work in. Never know what the hell we’re gonna run into out there in the shit.”

“Yeah.” She grunted as he pulled her up by her good arm. Easing into a nice spot between some of the crates with a pillow behind her, she watched him pull the hatch shut and handed off her Pip-Boy. “Takes us away, Preston. Rather get this all out of the way sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, General.” The man grunted, plopping into one of the now leather covered and padded chairs, Pip-Boy in his lap while he set their course. “Course set for Assembly home base, full of thirsty bastards that would probably kill us if they got half a chance.”

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Short and sweet, but no one tends to mind if it’s a tad short so long as the narrative and elements are good. Hope you enjoy.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Flintlock (Guest) :

The Gunners will be an interesting beast to tackle, in designing them and in our characters handling them. Their arms will be a mix, but primarily advanced ballistics and energy weapons, or more medieval weaponry like axes, swords and spears. The ‘no convenient way to make blackpowder’ would apply to them as well.

Darkpaladin :

I mean, it is Chekhov’s Whiskey, but in a different way. At least, so it would seem, no?

Cortax :

I was tempted, but I can confirm I will not be featuring that ship in this story.

Misdirection :

More of a small village than a town, yet, but I’m working on THAT believe you me. Glad you’re enjoying regardless!


	14. A History Lesson

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Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

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Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

This chapter has a racist that says racist words.

Apologies if that makes people uncomfortable.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“We met at a Veteran’s hall event, a couple years before the Great War.” She explained when Preston asked her about her husband, either feeling brave or feeling helpful with her Pip-Boy playing a cheery little radio tune. Either way it set that ache in her chest and head that she had, from a young age, come to understand as how she felt grief. “I was there with a colleague of mine named Alise, collecting and collating information on the veterans registered there to collect down at the old college.”

“The CIT?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I was being paid to collate and catalogue the information there.”

“Why?” He asked curiously, something she didn’t understand in his voice. A kind of caution, almost, before he added quickly, “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean, General. I know you wanna talk about your man.”

“We were never actually told.” She answered with a shrug, glad enough for the distraction even as she knew it would only be a temporary one. “Preparation for the worst, should it come, but that was all any of us were told. History, technological documents, records on population distribution, art and literature, we were made to compile it all. After that, my job was to compile historical records as efficiently as I could.”

“Sounds… Fun.”

“It was.” For her, at least, for reasons that brought her back to the real topic of conversation. “Nate and I met at that party, like I said. But we… Well, we didn’t exactly hit it off right away like you might have expected.”

“Why not, if you don’t mind me askin’?” He asked, smiling thinly and knowingly beside her. With a start of surprise, she realized that she was smiling, too. “Way you talk, I would have expected you two to have been these star struck, love at first sight kinda folk.”

“Well…”

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“I’m just saying that if the China-men would back off what’s rightfully ours, then everything would be fine.” Alise, ever the font of thoroughly state-approved wisdom, argued quietly. Thin but shapely by literal design, with the doctor's bills to prove it, her blonde coworker had ever been… An experience. “They should’ve never left their own borders.”

“Like we did?” Nora said before her brain caught her mouth, sighing as the woman rounded on her in the hall’s welcoming hall. Seeing hard, blue eyes, Nora groaned and leaned back against the wall by the door, conscious of the two guards a few feet away at the entrance to the banquet hall. “Please, Alise, I’m sorry, I misspoke, don’t start-”

“No you don’t start.” The woman snapped loudly, and purposefully so, pointing a finger in her face. Voice raised in a clear ‘wants to be seen doing this’ kind of way, she went on, “It’s always like this with you. Anti-American shit runs out of your mouth faster than it does the damn yellows.”

“Have you ever even met a Chinese man…?”

“No, and I don’t want to because the chinks are the enemy damn it.” She sighed, shaking her head in an odd kind of exasperation with her partner. “It just… It makes perfect sense they’d badmouth America, Nora! Even you should understand that.”

“I guess.” She didn’t bother to point out that in all likelihood, they were just as average as any American would be. Aside from the frothing patriots like Elise, of course. Seeing a soldier, complete with a Laser Rifle and full combat armor, approaching she hissed, “Now would you drop it before you cause something?”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what you want you red little-”

“Is there a problem, here?” The man, heavily armored and armed, grunted as he muscled between them. Nora opened her mouth to speak only to grunt as his laser’s muzzle pressed into her sternum, “Aside from your red talk, I mean. Could hear you two going over it from across the damn hall. Hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“She’s like this all the time.” Alise sighed, shaking her head tiredly and apparently wholly ignorant of the rifle’s humming. A humming that Nora felt in her ribs, for fuck sake. “She just… Says disrespectful things all the time. I mean, I don’t think she means anything by it, but…”

“You go on to work, Miss.” The soldier grunted, turning and grabbing Nora by her forearm. Spinning her around, he forced the muzzle against her spine just above her rear and grunted, commandingly, “Go on, now. You and I need to have a chat in my office, see how Red you really are.”

“B-But I’m not-”

“Go. On. Now.” He grunted again, each word punctuated by a hard shove of his rifle forcing her forward a step. “If you’re not what she says you won’t mind a little conversation. Gotta be better than working, right?”

“R-Right, yeah. Better than working.” At least it was better than getting shot, which she knew that he was allowed to do to her. 

Alongside other things that worried her, as he nudged her along towards his office. As they passed, the other guard grinned toothily as she was forced along. And made no move to hide his eyeing her up, no doubt looking forward to his own turn at ‘interrogating’ her later. Damn Alise for being so damn ‘patriotic’, and damn Nora herself, too, for being so mouthy.

You’d think she’d have learned…

His ‘office’ turned out to be little more than a cubicle of a room, with a desk shoved into one corner and a second chair just inside and by the door. A bookshelf full of typical soldier stuff, memorabilia and pinups for instance, filled space to the left of the door but aside from that and a flag that made up the entirety of another wall the room was bare almost completely. Heart hammering for fear, she was shoved into the seat, her folder torn from her hands.

Flipping through it he made his way to his desk, then back to the door and slammed it shut. 

“Okay, what the actual hell?” The man sighed, tough routine suddenly gone as the door clicked shut. Dropping her folder into her hands he asked, “Couldn’t you have just kept your opinions to yourself like the rest of us?”

“I…” She blinked, shocked to the point of silence, “What?”

“I was watching you from when you came in, you… Stupid, stupid smart person.” Groaning, he knelt and yanked open a drawer, fishing out a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Standing, he made his way to his desk and eased into his seat, unscrewing the cap while he talked. “Think you’re the only one here with half a brain? Lucky you don’t look yellow, girl, or you’d have been rounded up for that kind of talk. Sent off West.”

“I-I’m sorry.” She blinked, knowing very well what lay out west. “I-I’m just tired, and I didn’t even say anything that bad!”

“Yeah, but the accusation is enough nowadays.” He sighed, fishing out a couple of glasses and filling them. Holding one out for her, he explained simply, “You’re stayin’ in here with me for the next hour. Mess your hair up, smear the lipstick, maybe lose a few buttons from that blouse, and we can all go about our day.”

“W-Why should I-”

“Because soldier boys do two things to commie suspects.” He grunted, “We rough ‘em up and turn ‘em in for commission. Or if they’re pretty, we make ‘em work it off. Nasty shit if you ask me, but…” He shrugged, “Do as I say, take the drink, and we all go home at the end of the night. Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, I understand.” She nodded, standing anxiously and moving to take the bourbon from him. Retaking her seat and sipping her bourbon, she let herself relax. “I really didn’t say anything that bad, though.”

“I believe you. People like that… It’s not the words, it’s the tone. Not even that, sometimes, the damn fanatics...” He sighed, tossing back the whole of his glass and reaching for the bottle. “Specialist Nate Cromsby, United States Domestic Garrison. I’ll have to make up a report saying I ‘found nothing suspicious’ and ‘coached you in how to talk with proper American respect. What’s your name?”

“Nora.” She answered, “Doctor Nora Crumb.”

“Well, Doctor,” he smiled, taking another shot like he was drinking water, “it’s a right pleasure to waste an hour drinking with you. Now shut up and toss me that book under the chair. Might as well do something fun while I’m stuck in here pretending to do something fun.”

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“An hour later he helped me muss myself up and sent me on my way just like he said.” She finished, smiling familiarly at what she knew wasn’t really a good story. The smile came more for knowing how the story went after than the story itself, though, and Preston seemed to understand that. “A month or so later he was assigned to our project as a guard. We got to talking one day while he was on duty, watching me probably because of what happened when we met, and…”

“And the rest is history? Eh? Eh, General?” She scowled and Preston laughed, a loud sound that echoed around them as they trundled along. Taking a breath, and watching her for any swinging arms, he smiled, “Sorry, Ma’am, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was the absolute hardest thing in the world…” He shrugged and she sighed, shaking her head and hiding her smile in another drink. The dull throb of pain that had settled in her gut months ago was still there, of course, but… Reminiscing had helped, actually. “Nate was a good guy, even if he could be rough sometimes. All the time, actually. But I mean…”

“Rough doesn’t really mean bad.” Preston nodded knowingly, “Learned that well enough just from you, General.”

“I’m not rough…”

“Uh huh, sure, General.” Preston laughed, “And I’m not black.”

“Whatever you say, Preston.” She wasn’t that rough, she was sure. She could have been so much rougher if she wanted to be, but she wasn’t. She could have whipped the Minute Men into her personal cabal of thralls and gone raiding, but she hadn’t, even if the reasons for that weren’t exactly altruistic. “Speaking of history,” she pressed, eager for a change of subject before the bastard of a soldier kept prodding her, “tell me about the Assembly, since we’re headed that direction.”

“What do you want to know…?”

“Everything you do.” She answered immediately, “Knowledge is power and right now I’m powerless. I would very much like for you to rectify that situation Preston, before I go into a situation I need it in.”

“Alright, I guess. That makes sense, at least.” He sighed sufferingly, though, and Nora gave him a look. Seeing her raised, questioning brow he genuinely groaned, explaining as best he could, “I just… I don’t know, General. I don’t like talkin’ about how they started because they started so well. And seeing what they are now, it just kind of breaks my heart.”

“It does?” He nodded and she shrugged, “Well, call me rough, but I don’t care. Tell me anyway.”

“That mad I called you rough, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugged, smiling roguishly and ordering, firmly enough he could hear the joke and the order both, “Now start talking, Preston. You need to brief me on everything you know about the Assembly before we get there and if I’m lucky, it’ll kill some time.”

“Alright, alright, let me get a drink first, though.” She jokingly offered him her whiskey and he laughed, waving her off as he shuffled back to where their supplies were stowed. He came back with a couple glass Nuka-Cola bottles of pristine, Vault made purified water and a can of the dreaded pork meal they’d been stuck on for what felt like years of her life. Settling in, he sighed, “Okay, so, start at the front end of the story, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so, unlike most of the Raider tribes, the Assembly’s story actually starts before the Great War.” Prestoned started, the woman settling in impassively to watch the road drift by as the man talked. “Back then, they were part of something called a ‘union’. One made up of factory workers, called ‘The Union Of the Corvega Assembly’. My instructor didn’t know what any of that means-”

“Unions represented workers as a collective, and negotiated with businesses for certain things.” She explained swiftly, seeing a spot of ignorance and letting her mouth run before her brain could catch up with it. A bad habit, when someone lacked knowledge. But then, she was in charge, so who was going to stop her? “Better pay, benefits, more labor hands, the like, unions negotiated for people who had too much on the line to try it.”

“What would the workers have on the line?”

“Their jobs.” She answered simply, “Time was, if you complained, your boss might just fire you and replace you with someone quieter. Unions solve that since they represent everyone in a workplace. Replacing one, or even ten, factory workers is a far cry from replacing a couple hundred.”

“Well… All right, then.” He waited to see if she’d add more and, when she didn’t, moved on as best he could while she felt bad for throwing him off his rhythm. She’d not meant to but hindsight and all that… “Contrary to what you might think from the ghosts and the state of things, Boston and the areas north of it weren’t ever bombed. Instead, bombs dropped further south, where the Glowing Sea is. Everywhere else was… Well, fine, pretty much.”

“Really?” She blinked, “I find that hard to believe…”

“The people outside and on the bomb’s side of things, or on the big ol’ highways, died or were hurt or killed. Some of the buildings broke and were blown aside, too, you’ve seen that much yourself.” She could now, too. Distant towers with ancient, bared metal framework spindling up into the air like bony fingers over a flat skyline distantly below it. She couldn't see whatever had been built from here, of course, but she could see that much. “The Union were all at work when they hit. In its wake, they organized, searching rubble and trying to find out what to do next.”

“From there, well… The Minute Men’s teachers don’t really know what happened, not really. Records are bad after a nuclear holocaust, turns out.” He smiled like it was a joke but Nora saw the edge there. The seriousness of it all, which was hard to escape with their dessicated, mutated surroundings filtering by. “Neighborhood fell apart for a while, like everywhere. Fights started, the old union kept order until it couldn’t, and then… Well, they had power and scrap and bodies. Other places had food, water and medicine.”

“So they used the metal and electricity to take the food, water and medicine they needed.” In rough, desperate times, the leap to raiding and pillaging was never a big one to make. Morality was always easiest to adhere to and respect when starvation wasn’t around the corner. She didn’t think Preston would appreciate the though, though, and said instead, “Tale as old as time, that.”

“Yeah…” The man sighed, “After that, they kept on the same kind of route. Raiding, looting, slaving, the works. They’re very well organized and stratified, with a lot of history and pride in it. Still Raiders, but... They don’t crucify, burn or even eat Wastelanders, though, so they aren’t the worst.”

“Yeah. Not the worst.” And with that kind of foundation, she expected political structures that at least somewhat reflected their origin. Preston hadn’t mentioned the original Assembly ever being killed off, replaced by people that kept the name, so she could use what she knew of the unions of the old days to try and get an edge. “Thank you, Preston,” she smiled, “that will be very useful information. Anything else?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, pointing to the flat, level silhouette in the distance that she took to be a wall or something that they’d built. “They have incredible throwing marksmen. Couple centuries climbing and fighting in those old ruins, they got real good at it.”

“Ah.” Guerrilla fighting too, if she had to hazard a guess. Thrown weaponry had always been useful for guerrilla fighters and empires who favored brutal melee over ranged supremacy. Climbing, skirmishing, and hurling javelins and axes down on their enemies before or even during fights. “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to fight them then, hm? I don’t imagine it’s fun.”

“It isn’t.” Preston confirmed, “I’ve been in skirmishes with them myself and-”

“You’ve fought them yourself?” She snapped, rounding on him with wide eyes. Surprised, he blinked and nodded and she swore, “Why didn’t you mention that, Preston?”

“Didn’t seem important.” He answered simply, seeing the demand for an explanation on her face and sighing. “It was years ago, General. Back when I was just a Levyman with a spear. They went out to press a small settlement, maybe four families of people, for supplies and homage and they called on Minutemen support. It’s been so long, I doubt they’ll care.”

“How’d the fight go?” A massacre on the Assembly’s end would decide how much they cared or not.

“Badly for us.” He answered with a telling grimace, telling the story in the same clipped, short tone that Nate would when reading off his reports before his service years ended. “Captain Whitley ordered the shield line to form up on the road between the settlement and the Assembly’s territory. Right in the shade of the buildings. Fifteen Levymen and seven Musketmen formed up and braced against twelve spearmen coming up the road. A couple dozen hidden skirmishers pelted us ahead of their charge, though, and broke the center rank of the formation. The center gone, Whitley ordered us to retreat before he died.”

“And the settlement?”

“Sacked and pressed into joining the Assembly.” He answered quietly, “I and a couple others withdrew, but we could see the smoke.” 

“I see.” No wonder he hated the Raider nations so much, after seeing something like that. That could complicate matters… “Can you keep yourself under control while we talk and work with them, though? This works out the way we want long term, and we’ll be allies.”

“I’ll be fine, Ma’am. I know my job.” He assured her, turning to look out on the water as they trundled along. “And end of the day, the job is to destroy ‘em so people can live their lives. Laser blast, or changing them into something different, it’s all the same to me. So long as people are kept safe, I’ll be happy.”

“I can promise that much, at least.” So long as she was in charge, that was. She didn’t add that part, though, wary of seeming the tyrant. “So, a small front line and skirmisher support from on high. That's how the Assembly fights, then?”

“Far as I know, yeah.” He nodded, “Some guys I talked to said they had other ways, but-”

“-Gladius, calling on any-” They both flinched, the radio of the Pip-Boy sparking and chitering as the broken voice tried to force itself out. “Cambridge- -department. See- -shelter, under -tack from-”

“The hell?” Preston lifted the little Pip-Boy, music, static and broken words fighting for dominance over a frequency that had to be close to matched. With a few clicks, he ordered their pseudo-carriage to a shuddering stop and worked at the radio controls. “Sounded like a call for help, General. From inside Cambridge.”

“Right.” And they were nearly oceanside of Cambridge, too. She could even smell salt, coming off the little series of inlets spindling in-land in from the ocean that this broken road would lead them to eventually. On their other side, ruin and rubble, and not much else. And Preston wouldn’t let them go on with a call for help on the air… “Turn us into Cambridge, then. I heard mention of the police station, tag it on the old maps.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded, punching in the commands on her words. As they trundled off again, this time hooking right into the city, he stood and reached for his rifle. “I set the ‘Bot to accept audio commands, General.” The machine trundled into a car blocking the road, hurling it aside with its gun, sending tremors through their homunculus of a transport, and he added a short, grunted, “And to go as fast as it could.”

“Yep.” She grunted as the robot slammed into another rusted hulk, forcing it, too, aside in its haste. “Noticed that, Preston. Noticed that.” The distant thrum of lasers reached them and she sighed, shouting an added, “You notice that, Preston?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He answered, stepping up into the raised pilot seat with his humming red rifle in his hands. “Looks like another fight. You going to be alright?”

“I am.” She’d have to be, rather.

The sound of laser blasts and howling Ghouls didn’t leave any room for her not to be, unless she wanted to be dinner.

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A short chapter. But god damn if this one isn’t dense. And I mean that in terms of what is shown, and what is not. For this chapter, I’ve done up the story and character work for Nate himself, and for the Assembly as well.

AND the Brotherhood, at least in part, which you all know is what’s coming.

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Insert Something Witty Here :

Super Mutants will be a unique beast here, too, as I am unable to leave things be it seems. Whatever the case, I am glad to be such a positive resource for you. Feel free to riff on my OCs, my designs, my factions as they emerge, and whatever else you like. Just toss a mention of me in your fic and call it kosher.

Nick (Guest) :

I have a few more moves like this in mind. Glad to see such positive reception to it.

Flintlock :

You don’t bother me at all! Genuine questions never do.

Cortax :

Yeah, they don’t gel well enough for a romance. I have other characters I would look to first before doing such a thing.

Thornewood :

I read many in preparation for this story. Sharp eyes may catch some references to some of them. In some cases, the blind will too, lol.

Blaze 1992 :

I’m glad that once you adapted to the AU changes I made, you understood them and enjoyed what came after! It’s a bit of a reach in some places, yeah, and a departure from the games by far, but I wanted to do something unique. Now, your questions!

I have Codsworth doing more quiet jobs, but he’s still OP in context. I’m using him to fill in some more mundane work that would be annoying to read since it would be so laborious.

In some places, the timelines are tweaked. In others, yes, she will have missed events.

She’s a general European historian. Think late Roman era through to early Ren era. A wide berth, and kinda ridiculous, but then her being so good is a reason for other things to be revealed LATER. Her plans are kept quiet for several reasons, one of which being I haven’t made the later ones.

Mister Cuddlesworth :

This story is by a nerd and for the nerds, yeah, lol.


	15. Knight in Bloodied Armor

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Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : Darkvampirekisses

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Numerous enemies sighted, Sir.” The machine reported loudly as it slammed to a stop, the vertibird lurching forward and crashing into it for the speed and force of it all. 

She and Preston were both hurled off their feet as well, into the cargo bay where they splayed out over the crates of water and supplies they’d packed. Preston was faster to recover than her and stood, wrapping an arm around her waist to tug her upright and out of his way, so he could get to the door. Yanking the door open he dropped onto the concrete and disappeared towards the craft’s tail end, which had been yanked to the side enough that, with the robot’s bulk on the other, the carriage they’d made blocked the off the road. 

That the robot had done that on purpose couldn’t be the case, as simple as a Sentry Bot’s programming was supposed to be, but she took the luck for what it was.

Stepping out herself she joined Preston at the tail end of the craft, stood a bit behind her with her ten millimeter in her hand and a sincere hope she would not need it. One handed, she knew she wouldn’t be nearly as accurate as she needed to be to be of any real help. A concern that was very swiftly allayed and replaced by a brand new one.

Namely, the seemingly unending horde of Ghouls rushing down the street towards them, fangs bared and eyes wide. 

Some wore scraps of armor, Pre and Post war alike, while others were naked or wore the barest tatters of Pre-War civilian gear, all scrambling over fallen pieces of rubble, bodies, and whatever else littered the road. The first wave, a dozen of the creatures in the lightest of armor or none at all, were ripped apart by a strafe of heavy laser fire. Limbs were hewn away, concrete was hurled into the air like shrapnel for the incline the robot was firing into in places, and bodies were annihilated. Reduced to pulp or to ashes and gore, it didn’t matter, the effect was much the same. 

The second and third waves suffered much the same, lasers boring through so much flesh that even they hit their limit and ceased to pierce. The bodies didn’t mound, though. Mounding up would imply that they’d been slowed. Instead, as each Ghoul fell, it felt like nothing had changed, even with her lower caliber shots and Preston’s laser blasts added to the mix. Though now enough had died that she could see the police barricades up the road, and the Ghouls who clambered up it to drag the man fighting there off and bury him under a mass of writhing, snarling flesh.

It was chaos of a kind she had never seen before. A writhing mass of mutant bodies that seemed without end. There had to be a hundred of them even now, after so much...

“Fall back!” Preston barked, reloading his shot and hip-firing it into the torso of a Ghoul as it leapt from the top of the Vertibird towards her. It fell to either side, severed at the stomach by the high heat blast and the man rounded on her, grabbing her by the front of her coat and hurling her down the road.

She staggered and tripped on the broken concrete while the man turned, cranking his rifle even as he snapped it up, shattering a Ghoul’s jaw and then belting a kick that broke its knee. It hissed, its charge cell spent, and he made a similar sound before hurling the rifle down with enough force its skull cracked. Then he straightened, yanking the little handaxe he carried for chopping wood from his belt. Then, like something out of Grognak, he bellowed a challenge and, lit impressively from the other side by the Sentry Bot’s resuming laser fire, she watched him begin hacking away at the ghouls scrabbling under the Vertibird. As tightly packed as they were, they got stuck on each other, making for easy prey.

And an easy distraction, the man only able to look one way and thus unable to see the one’s managing to get atop preparing to leap. Ignoring the searing pain in her arm she took her pistol and snapped it up, shooting down one, two, and then three of the monsters as they scrambled up. Dozens replaced them, but she kept up her fire as she rose to her knees, teeth bared and intent on not dying.

As one leapt, her weapon clicked uselessly in her hand and her eyes widened, the creature slamming down on her with all of its weight. It snarled in her face and then jerked to the side as Preston’s little handaxe, hurled through the space between them, slammed into the back of its skull. The Sentry Bot turned its fire on those on top of the craft but Preston ignored it, taking up his rifle once more and snapping it down into the faces of Ghouls who had yanked their dead fellows free of the jam to squeeze through themselves.

Reloading, she joined him, snapping accurate shots until her second magazine ran dry and she reloaded her final one. But, finally, they seemed to be thinning, enough that the robot turned its fire back onto the road and Preston collapsed in a sweaty heap, heaving for breath while she stood beside him trying to catch her own. Beyond the Vertibird, she could see a hulking, armored form, chasing the fleeing Ghouls away with heavy laser fire.

“What the hell was that…”

“That,” he answered, struggling to rise and, in spite of the rest of him trembling, managing to properly reload his rifle with steady hands, “is why you stay out of these sections of the city. They’ll probably be back, too.”

“I’m surprised they ran away at all.”

“Ferals are dumb and crazy, but no more than any other animal.” Preston grunted, looking at the corpses lodged under their craft and groaning. “They won’t all just die for no reason once they know for damn sure they can’t win the fight.”

“Yeah.” She hissed, holstering her weapon and then cradling her aching arm. She caught him looking at it and smiled, “I’ll be fine, Preston. I just need rest.”

“And a doctor.” The man sighed, the heavy, trundling kind of steps no one could recognize as anything but Power reaching him. Grimacing, the man sighed and nodded towards the noise, which seemed even louder for the sudden silence the street had fallen into. “Looks like we saved someone, at least, though.”

“My name is Paladin Danse, recon element of the Brotherhood of Steel.” A friendly, if tired and somewhat synthesised, voice called from the other side of the Vertibird. “I’m assuming you heard our call, so I’m not hiding my identity. I would ask for the same trust in return.”

“Brotherhood of steel…?”

“Soldiers from the capital.” Preston murmured with a confused shrug, “I don’t know much about ‘em, aside from that they use Power Armor. We weren’t taught much about ‘em in training since they’re from so far away. Sorry, General.”

“Of course not…” It made sense, though, even if she disliked it. Taking a breath, she called back, “My name is General Nora, of the Commonwealth Minutemen! We heard your call and came to assist as fast as we were able.”

“I was under the impression the Minute Men had dissolved?”

“They did, yeah.” She answered, feeling a bit exposed and dumb for screaming in the street like this, but hoping the Ghouls would stay at bay for now at least. Like predators, scared more of their guns than their hunger for now, though she knew that wouldn’t last forever. “I’m reforming them, with my companion, Preston. And the Minute Men never turn down a call for help. Even if I do kind of wish you’d mentioned how many Ghouls there were to deal with.”

“Apologies.” The man laughed, “My radio-woman was needed, so she recorded a short and simple message and came back. If you’ll help me, we can clear a path to the front of the station for your… Vehicle. It shouldn’t take long.”

“My arm is wounded, I’m afraid I can’t help.” She frowned, giving Preston an asking look before, at his nod, adding, “My companion will help you, though.”

“You took a wound, General?” Before she could answer she heard him sigh, adding, “No matter. You rest. Your man and I will clear enough of a path for your vehicle to get by and we’ll talk in the old Police Station.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged, “I prefer face to face rather than shouting like this anyway.”

Half an hour passed before the work was done, the duo having simply dragged and pushed the corpses to the side of the road so the Sentry Bot could get by. As it trundled up the road to rest in front of the barricades, Nora took the chance to give the heavily armored soldier a good look. His heavy laser was nowhere to be found now, probably left at the Police Station once he was sure it was safe enough to, but he was no less threatening for the fact. 

Towering over her in classic, very obviously military grade T-60 Power Armor, he was already more than enough to crush her if he wished to. That was made all the easier for the massive shield, pitted and scratched from likely years of service and made out of what looked like tank armor ripped off and given a handle. Sheathed on its back at an angle so he could draw it with his right hand was a sword shaped rather like a gladius, albeit nearly Nora’s height in size. And all had been painted black, with what she took to be the Brotherhood’s symbol emblazoned on the front of the bloodied shield and rank insignias under it and on his arms. 

And every god damn inch of it practically covered in blood, ash and other detritus from the fighting.

A sword and a massive shield, then, coupled with a heavy laser. She tilted her head and saw what she’d expected. A dozen little horizontal pegs as big as her hands on the bottom, that would let the shield stand so he could use the heavy seeming weapon in a facsimile of the pavise style. A massive shield, massive sword, and Power Armor might to wield both when he couldn’t use his heavy laser…

The Brotherhood very certainly didn’t play any games, then.

“General.” He guessed, probably from her gender and her arm in its sling again. Pounding a fist to his heavily armored breastplate, he bowed his armored head. “On behalf of my team, and the Brotherhood, I thank you for your aid. Even in my armor, without you on their flank, the Ghouls would have overrun and slaughtered my team and I.”

“If you feel so kind, feel free to donate us some supplies in thanks.” She smiled, adding before he could make any unfortunate conclusions, “We didn’t help for it, but I’m rebuilding, so I haven’t got much choice but to ask for what I can get.”

“I understand.” And, to her surprise, the soldier didn’t seem put out at her asking, either. For her reasoning or not, she couldn’t tell and wouldn’t ask. ‘Never look a gift Power Armor soldier in the mouth’ seemed a good rule, after all. “All I can offer is my fallen man’s Laser Rifle. Standard issue, in good maintenance. Technically, it isn’t mine, but I’m sure the Elder would understand me trading it for goodwill with our rescuers.”

“That would… Be more than acceptable, yes, Paladin Danse.” And damn but a Laser Rifle would up Preston’s combat output, she was sure. She couldn’t look to him for confirmation, of course, standing behind her as he was. Instead she smiled and asked the hulking soldier, “Shall we get some rest, then? I have a feeling we have a bit to talk about, and I always find that a hot meal paves the way for fast friendships.”

“That sounds alright, yeah.” She smiled, following behind him as the massive man turned to lead them up the road. “What are we having, then?”

“You’ll have to ask Scribe Haylen that, Ma’am.” Paladin Danse answered, explaining after a second, “She’s our squad’s logistical chief, so she’ll be the one that breaks out the rations for us. Once she’s gotten Knight Rhys patched up and in bed, at least. He took a bad bite from a Feral in the battle and she hauled him into the station for cover.”

“Fair enough.” And, distantly, she felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, her own arm still mangled from her brief brawl as it was. As they reached the armored barricade outside the station she sighed and grumbled where she thought he couldn’t hear her, “As long as it’s not Pork’n’Beans, I’ll be more than happy to eat it.”

“Don’t like beanie weenies?”

“It’s all I eat when we head out on expeditions.” She sighed, caught out but shrugging at that fact and his question both. “We hit a Super Duper Mart a while ago and had to clear out a fistful of Ghouls ourselves. They had a pretty big stock of the damned things, and they’re filling and easily packed, so… The taste is fine, but it’s all I’m eating.”

“Packing too many of the same rations makes the taste grate after a while.” The massive soldier nodded, the motion in Power Armor making his entire head and shoulders shift for the bulk of it all. Pulling open the door with his free hand, he held it open and turned to look down on them both. “If you like, I’ll trade you some of ours for them. I happen to like beanie weenies a lot, and can replace some of my stock with them happily.”

“Preston and I will talk about it.” Though she was pretty certain she would push for it, she needed to at least hear him out on it so that the man didn’t feel ignored. She knew enough history to know better than to not at least hear her officer’s opinions, even if she went her own way. “For now, I would really like to get that rest you mentioned. It’s been a rough ride, and my arm is killing me.”

“Is it?” She nodded as she stepped by and into the spacious, ruined room that had once been a nice lobby. Now, though, it was ruined and decrepit, with broken chairs, tables and fallen panels of wood from the ceiling scattered around the room. At her nod, the Paladin stepped past her in one long stride and called, “Scribe Haylen, report for medical duties!”

“Yes, Sir!” A woman called, popping around the corner of a door to the right that led into what she unfortunately knew to be the holding cells. 

The Scribe was small, almost mousy even much like Nora herself, and wore a thick, woolen set of padded clothes in orange and black. Her head was bare and sweaty brown hair tied back in a ponytail, strands loose and hair matted in places. A small backpack sat open on her back and, on her hip, a small Laser Pistol rested in a holster attached to her belt. She looked exhausted but as she crossed the room she also looked alert and ready, responding to her superior’s call with the kind of discipline that Nora could only dream her own men would be able to replicate one day.

“I’d like to introduce you to Scribe Haylen, General Nora.” At her title’s drop, the woman straightened and pressed a fist to her chest the same way he had. She nodded and the woman slid to a more easy stance while Danse continued, “She has an old wound she took that was aggravated in her rescue of us. With her permission, I would like you to examine it and offer what treatment and prognosis you can.”

“Of course, Sir.” The woman nodded, gesturing at one of the handful of chairs still in one piece around the room and smiling. “If it’s alright with you, General, just take a seat and I can take a look.”

“I’ll be outside, scrubbing my armor.” The Paladin reported, turning to leave and grumbling a low, “If I don’t it’ll stink more, and it’ll never come out.”

As the man left she got an idea and smiled, disguising it in a hiss of pain as she shrugged her officer’s coat and armor off. Seeing that, haylen stepped behind her to help and she turned to her rifleman, “Preston, would you check on the robot and our cargo? Maybe steal some cleaning supplies and make sure nothing is covered in Ghoul bits?”

“Now?” He grumbled, “I’d rather eat first…”

“You’d rather eat before you inspect our carriage and remove all the burnt, nasty chunks of Ghoul blood and meat?” She asked, the man nodding and sighing at the idea as she had very much hoped he would. “Exactly.” She laughed, shaking her head and then nodding towards the door, “It needs to be done, so see it done. Once you’re finished we can eat and get some rest.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He sighed, snapping a salute and turning to leave while Haylen laid her coat and mail in a folded pile on the floor beside her. 

“How is the other Knight faring?” She asked while the woman slid her pack off and knelt behind her. 

“Knight Rhys is alright, aside from some broken bones from a Reaver. He’s sleeping now, I had to put him under.” The woman answered, waving for her to stretch her arm out. Wincing, the General did as she was ordered, showing the one the long, ragged strip of pale pink flesh sunken into her arm. Running a gentle finger along the edge of the wound the woman whistled, “What did this, Ma’am?”

“A Ghoul.” She shrugged, hissing as it tugged the flesh of her arm, the woman holding it still so she couldn’t raise the arm with her shrug. Grimacing she explained, “It dragged me down and ripped a chunk out of me. Like it was eating, and I wasn’t even dead yet…”

“It probably figured you were down, if not out, if you couldn’t get it off inside a handful of seconds. Or if you tried and couldn’t.” She held up a couple fingers to tell her it was the second one and Haylen nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighing. “Yeah, that’d be enough. The starving, mutant bastards will eat you alive if they can. More impatience than any lust for blood or anything, from what the Scribes can tell, but… I imagine you don’t want to hear about any of that.”

“Not really, no.” She smiled, bobbing her arm ever so slightly in the Scribe’s gentle grip. “I kind of got a first hand understanding of all of that, thanks.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, Haylen. Really, it is.” But if the woman felt so bad, Nora could think of a pretty useful change of subject, since Preston had implied he knew very little about their group. Picking her words carefully, she prodded, “Maybe while you look me over, you can tell me a little bit about who the Brotherhood of Steel are?”

“You don’t already know?” She blinked up at her, one brow raised with the question and both eyes echoing a distant kind of suspicion. 

“I’m from further north, kind of in the sticks.” She lied, shrugging for effect and wincing as her arm flared and ache that reached up and into her shoulder. The wince at least had been real, and earned a sympathetic and careful eye from the Scribe. A distraction, then, and one she wouldn’t waste. “Where I’m from we’ve heard a handful of rumors about some ‘Brotherhood’ to our South, but nothing worth listening to.”

“How do you mean…?”

“Well, there’s the one that says that you are all huge robots.” She started, the comparison one she was sure made sense. Then she smiled, remembering an old Pre-War magazine cover and adding, “Another that says your helmet’s eyes can shoot lasers. That one’s kind of my favorite, actually.”

“Really? Lasers from our eyes?” Haylen laughed, a bright, exhaustion drained sound. It reached her eyes, though, when the woman turned to look at her, so Nora smiled and nodded. One on one and assuming they weren’t angry, she was good at reading people. “Well no, we don’t shoot lasers from our eyes. Kind of wish we could, actually.”

“I figured, yeah.” She nodded, using the truth of her suspicions about the magazine cover to help her sound truthful enough. In Pre-War America, one learned tricks or got caught and sent off like she’d almost been until she started rehearsing. “So?”

“So what?”

“Why don’t you set the record straight, then?” The woman’s lips thinned tellingly, warning Nora that her suspicions were overtaking her amusement and Nora smiled. Laughing quietly like she’d been joking all alarm, she smiled just a bit wider, “I don’t want to know anything important, of course. Just who you are if you aren’t eye-laser using robots. And, well… I’m supposed to sleep here, and I just saved your lives, so I think it’s owed.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel are protectors.” She answered simply, voice terse and lacking the previous friendliness for her pressing her so, but not outright hostile. “We collect and study technology to preserve it and, ultimately, prevent more atrocities like what you’ve no doubt seen plenty of.”

“A noble goal.” She lied. Or, well, it was a partial lie, if only because her instincts screamed against anyone that would hoard technology. “So you… What, hoard whatever technology you find and study it?”

“I dislike the term ‘hoard’...”

“If you collect, archive and study a piece of technology, you necessarily have to hoard it to yourself while you do.” She argued, mouth running to explain before her brain could quite catch up to it all and make her stop. Brain rushing to catch up to her mouth, now, she smiled and added, “But I won’t use the term if it bothers you. Sorry. I can… Get focused and ramble without thinking.”

“Yeah, I… Do the same, sometimes.” And Nora only realized after a second that she was referring to her earlier slip about the Ghouls and how they hunted and fed. Regardless, the woman moved on, “As long as you don’t keep us from our goal, and you don’t insult us,” she gave her a long look of warning and Nora nodded, smiling apologetically while she went on, “you don’t have to worry. We may even be allies, if you try to let us be.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She hoped she would, at least, though with the way her mouth ran off with her sometimes… Opting for another change of topic now she sensed that she couldn’t probe any further on the group’s basics, much less into how the Brotherhood worked or their mission, she asked, “How’s my arm, though, doctor?”

“You lost a section of muscle to the bite, and tendons with it. Did you treat the wound with an anti-radiation regimen?” Her confusion must have shown on her face because the woman snorted a small laugh, shaking her head and explaining, “Rad-X doses for the week after the wound was taken, plus Rad-Away right after suffering it as well as antibiotics and a cleansing wash. Alcohol would have worked.”

“We didn’t do all of that, no.” She answered, “We cleaned it, and had antibiotics on hand to use, but we didn’t think to do the rest.”

“Then your muscles suffered lasting radiation damage. I’m going to guess it’s been stiffening and aching more and more as time passes?” The woman sighed when she nodded, shaking her head and drawing a little plastic bag from her bag. Holding it and a small bottle up, the woman explained simply, holding each up in turn as she did, “This is Rad-Away. Tonight, you are going to take a drip of it while you sleep. The bottle is Rad-X. You are going to take these pills twice daily, one in the morning and the other at noon, both with food.”

“The pain isn’t that bad-”

“Does this hurt then, General?” She asked, grabbing her shoulder and squeezing gently. Nora hissed as pain lanced through it, both from the fight earlier and the simple, gentle squeeze alike. The woman nodded, “Radiation sickness is inside you, General Nora. A little bit, but it’s eating away. This regimen will be rid of it and surgery will, hopefully, see your arm mostly back to normal.”

“Mostly?”

“You still lost tendons and muscle.” She shrugged, setting the drugs aside and closing up her backpack. Tucking it safely under the chair Nora was sitting on. “That damage will need to be repaired but, for now, I suggest we get food ready and get you into bed. The sooner you start your regimen the better off you’ll be.”

“I suppose…”

“Doctor’s orders.” The woman smiled, standing and dusting herself off. “Or, well, field medic’s orders, but whatever. Come on no, give me a hand setting the table so you can take your medicine.”

With a sigh, the woman stood to follow the Scribe through the old offices and down, into the equally old motor pool where a pot and fire had been set under some windows. Brotherhood marked cans were produced and opened to make a vegetable stew, filled with chunks of dried ration beef. They even had biscuits, canned in their compact and doughy forms that Scribe Haylen baked by laying them on a clean metal sheet over the boiling pot for the half an hour it took the stew to finish. By which point the biscuits were done and Nora was told to carry them up while she got the heavier pot, bringing it up to the old chief’s office.

The old desk was all that remained in the office and various kinds of chairs surrounded it, with a little wooden disk in the center that Haylen put the pot on. Ordering her to sit down the woman parted the biscuits before spooning stew into a simple wooden bowl and handing her an equally wooden spoon along with one of the sweet smelling pieces of bread. Then she did the same three more times, setting places for the two men still working outside before sitting to eat her food with a small smile.

“What about Knight Rhys…?”

“He had some rations earlier before he went to bed.” The woman explained, blinking and turning as the door outside opened and closed. 

No sound of Power Armor reached them, though. Instead the two clearly exhausted men rounded the corner with neither their armor on or their weapons with them. 

Paladin Danse was a soldier if she’d ever seen one, clearly well built and muscles and with his face only showing the barest hint of stubble outside of his well-manicured goatee. His hair was well cut too, like she had expected from his voice and what she inferred of his rank from the fact he wore Power Armor but the others lacked it. Quietly, he sat his Fusion Core on the floor beside his chair and sat down on Haylen’s right where he faced the door, taking a deep drink of water the same way Preston did before sighing.

She couldn’t help it.

She laughed, covering her mouth to strangle the sound but gaining their attention anyway. Waving them off she explained in brief, “You two are acting just like each other, that’s all. It’s hilarious.”

“Yes, well…” Danse shrugged, picking up a biscuit and smelling it before taking a bite and grunting. “Soldiers will be soldiers, I suppose. Isn’t that so, Preston?”

“Yeah, at least in my experience.” The man nodded, taking a bite of his stew and almost groaning for the meal after the day they’d had. Chewing, Preston nodded to the man across from him and then turned to Nora at his side. “General, I have the Sentry Bot watching the road. The Ghouls shouldn’t get by that. Not unless they come from the opposite side of where they ran to, at least.”

“Can we not talk about Ghouls while we eat…?” Haylen complained, giving Danse a look with both her brows raised challengingly enough that Nora almost reevaluated who she supposed was the officer in the room.

“We won’t.” He promised, “Preston simply wanted to assure the General that all was well.”

“Yeah.” Preston nodded, “I said what needed sayin’.”

For a long and quiet while, they settled in to eat together. And, in spite of the chilly evening wind winding its way into the building and the decrepit status of it all, it was actually very nice. Biscuits, stew and even outright beef that hadn’t been in a can for centuries with pure, clean water presumably from wherever the Brotherhood hailed from judging by the insignia on the tall, otherwise black cans.

Finally, as their bowls were emptied and the mostly empty pot cooled, she asked, “Why are you here, Paladin? In the Police Station, I mean.”

“Well,” Danse sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek for a minute, “that was actually what I wanted to talk to you about, General. We needed a well reinforced location that wasn’t occupied by Raiders and could send a signal out to the Brotherhood territories, in DC. But we can’t hold here, and the radio lacks a transmitter that can reach the range.”

“I told him about Sanctuary, Ma’am.” Preston volunteered, earning a glare from her and nodding understandingly for it. “I know, I know, it was stupid and it slipped out while we were workin’. I’m sorry, Ma’am, really I am. But he had a proposal and I told him to bring it to you.”

“And?” She sighed, setting aside Preston’s mistake and turning back to the Paladin. “What’s your offer?”

“Preston and I will go to a nearby location to retrieve a long-range transmitter. We return, and send a transmission requesting reinforcements.” Danse explained simply, pushing aside his bowl and resting his forearms on the table. “Then, we take the LRT back out of the machine and withdraw from here and head for Sanctuary. In exchange for Power Armor protection, we get shelter and supplies.”

“We’ve not been attacked yet.” Nora argued, “Why would I give you all this for, essentially, nothing at all?”

“When the Brotherhood arrives you would be on friendly terms.” He answered simply, gesturing to himself with a hand. Smiling, he assured her in the kind of tone that told her he’d planned his words before he even came back into the Police Station. “I could vouch for you to Elder Maxson himself, our leader, and establish a proper treaty, even a payment, for your support.”

“Mhm.” She nodded slowly, drumming the fingers of her off hand, the one free of the sling she’d returned the other to, on the table while she thought. “I agree, with an additional demand.”

“What is it?”

“We’re headed into Boston, as you know, to get my arm tended to.” She answered, the man nodding understandingly. “And I want you to come with us. I could use your help along the way, and if you want my Minute Men’s help, you’ll give me yours. Preston and I can provide a safe route and my people will see yours protected.”

“That’s a lot of trust you are asking me for…”

“Paladin Danse, Preston and I are the only officers of the Minute Men left operating in the Commonwealth.” Preston had spilled enough of the proverbial beans that she felt it alright to play the card. “My deal offers to put someone next to me we stand no chance of beating. If you turn on us, we’re dead. My offer puts a lot of trust in you, and gives me a chance to come to trust your organization through you while we travel.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will, too.” She nodded, smiling gently with the threat to show the lack of heat behind it. “No hard feelings, we go our separate ways in the morning. If your reinforcements come, and you’re alive to point them our way, the Minute Men might still be amenable to being on friendly terms.”

“I see.” The man nodded, raising an eyebrow. “I assume I would be under your command?”

“No.” His brows shot up and she smiled, “I would only ask that you follow our lead, or voice your concerns prior to acting on them.”

“A fair bargain, I suppose…” He sighed, taking a drink from his canned water and giving Haylen a questioning look. She smiled softly and shrugged, and then nodded, as though holding a silent conversation with him. The man himself sighed, then and turned to her, bowing his head. “I accept your demand then, General Nora. And for what it’s worth, I hope all will go well.”

“I do too.” She smiled, already imagining the damage that his sword could do if push came to shove. “I do too, Danse.”

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Ragnar Thorson :

Yes! There will be.

Nick (Guest) :

I hope that the bits shown thus far have satisfied!

Blaze :

Actually, Nate is the good guy here. Nora could have been killed if the wrong person heard Alise’s accusation. Nate took her away, played the part, and let her go unmolested. Shitty time period, but a dude being as good of a dude as he possibly could be in-context.


	16. Another Mystery On the Pile

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The Laser Rifle was lighter in his arms than his Musket ever had been, the light plastics and metals that made it up a far cry from the stocky wood, salvaged metal and glass that the Musket had been made out of. Old World military production compared to New World salvaging, he supposed. Whatever the case, it felt odd in his arms for how light it was. 

It didn’t feel fragile, though. No, far from it, the weapon’s casing was sturdily built. And it was covered in scuffs, dents, scratches and admittedly advanced patches from repairs and part replacements. The sight was simplistic and clearly Post-War, made out of a firmly fitted wire, clearly custom-made with a little glowing circle for him to use to target with. 

But even that looked more advanced than anything made in the Commonwealth. 

“Scribes make them to order for Knights and Paladins.” Paladin Danse explained when he asked while the large soldier checked over his armor in the dawn light. Scrubbing at some leftover grime the Paladin went on, “Sights and stocks are allowed to be requested at will, and some are kept in stock for testing. They figure out what they like and Scribes machine new ones in-house for them.”

“Damn… That’s pretty impressive.” He tried to picture a world where the Minute Men had that kind of infrastructure for a moment, but he came up empty. 

Even when the Minute Men had been as strong as they had been months ago, before Quincy, Preston had never seen them so powerful. When he’d enlisted, they’d already been waning in influence and power. Setback after setback, loss after loss, for years and years even before he’d enlisted and gone for training. Muskets were handed out and if you had time, caps and supplies, you could customise them however you wanted.

The idea of well-made custom parts was… Astounding, and something he hoped the Minute Men would be able to do one day, as hard as it was to believe that would ever happen.

“Well, it’s a damn fine weapon, Paladin.” He smiled, putting those thoughts, and what they dredged up, aside for the moment. He had a job to do, after all, and it was time he got paid attention to it. “What’s the plan for your raid?”

“We'll head behind the station and to the road alongside the water back there.” He answered, gesturing at, or rather through, the police station and to the road and water beyond. “We can follow it along the road to get around the older sections of the city and avoid the worst packs of Ferals infesting it. All in all it should take most of the day to get there and come back, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Assuming the part is still there…”

“The location of the Deep Range Transmitter in question was found on a military document by Scribe Haylen herself a while back. Inside a formerly sealed, Pre-War crate I ripped open with my armor.” Danse explained as an answer, standing and tossing the rag away while he circled the armor, looking it over one last, sharp time. “Hopefully, that means it will be there, undisturbed.”

“If it isn’t…?”

“Well, I suppose we’ll deal with that if and when it comes.” He shrugged, turning the handle of his Power Armor. It hissed open and, looking over its internals, he went on, “For now, we just have to hope that it’s there and head that way. Automated security should be military grade and at least mostly intact.”

“Which means we have to fight whatever it is…”

“Whatever is in there, I can handle.” The Paladin assured him, standing and stepping a foot into the leg of his armor. As he climbed in and it closed around him, the Paladin sighed, rolling his shoulders and turning bodily to him once he was fully enclosed. “My armor should hold up to just about anything, and my sword should be able to break just about anything.”

“Or your Gatling will do it.” That thing could shred anything Preston could imagine being on the other end of it. Even armored Super Mutants or Deathclaws wouldn’t fare well against its super-heated laser fire. “That thing could probably clear tree acreage itself…”

“Hah.” The man laughed, shaking his now-armored head and turning to the police station. “Unfortunately, I won’t be bringing it.” His brows furrowed and the man explained, “If the Ghouls attack, Haylen is the only able-bodied fighter here. She’s setting the heavy weapon up on the counter facing the door and window. If they try…”

“She’ll have a killing zone.”

“And an exit to run to if things get hairy.” The Paladin nodded, leaning down to pick up his shield and, affixed to the back of it, his sword. “Stairs around the corner lead down into the old motor pool. If they need to, they can run that way. Narrow hall, full of clutter, the Ghouls will fall all over themselves. It should buy them time, and the pool lets out towards the water line we’ll be following, so they can head straight towards us.”

“Not a guarantee…” But it was the best that could be hoped for in a worst-case scenario, and he sighed for it. “I guess it’s what we got, though. No use complaining about it.”

“Indeed.” His temporary partner nodded, “Better that we move along, and see our task done, rather than wasting time.”

“Yeah.” The big man had a point, and on that note… “Sun’s high enough to see by, we’re ready and raring to go, so let's get on with it then.”

The man nodded and, after a moment taken to warn the others they were leaving, they were on their way. Circling around, they passed through alleys to the street behind the station and down the road to the south, around a cluster of broken homes and towards the inlet and the road alongside it on the opposite side of Cambridge from where they’d rushed through to get to the Police Station. With the Ghouls scattered further into Cambridge, and hopefully not willing to attack the station with the Sentry Bot still there, their walk was peaceful and quiet.

At least, until they reached the old bridge and found a small, relatively well hidden camp. Raiders, covered in grease and soot and wearing sturdy, somewhat lopsided and overly heavy scrap metal armor that had been pounded and welded into place more through brute force than any skill. Their weapons were the same, long metal rods topped by large hammer heads, roughly round club-heads and spikes. None carried shields, their weapons too large to use them with one hand, but each had a rough leather slack over one shoulder. Little metal rods poked out of the tops.

“Forged.” Preston explained when Danse drew his sword, the duo standing a bit down the road and watching them. Preston made a show of his Laser Rifle, and that and Danse’s Power Armor kept them from rushing them. “The Assembly uses decently armored infantry, and they hate them for having a factory like the Forged do, so they use those weapons to crush through their armor. Based out of an old ironworks a bit North-Easterly from here.”

“I don’t know who the Assembly is…”

“A Raider tribe, if a bit more… Eh, civilized I guess, dirty as that sounds when I describe ‘em that way.” He answered, bobbing his head off towards Corvega and Lexington alike, “That’s their territory off in that direction. This is too, kind of, but it's the edges. Barely patrolled. They stick to the city mostly for scrap and places to live.”

“Ah.” The man nodded, “Then why are the Forged here? In their territory?”

“They hate each other, since the Forged don’t have all the old apartments and stuff for houses and looting.” He shrugged, eyeing the tents under the bridge with hard eyes. A handful of Assembly shields had been piled up alongside a mix of spears and axes and he pointed it out with the stock of his rifle, “Probably picking off patrols or scavengers. Slaves and loot, that’s how Raiders operate.”

“Whatever the case, we need to get by them.” Paladin Danse pointed out, turning and looking at Cambridge proper off to their side. “We could cut through Cambridge and around to get to ArcJet, but that would double our time. And send us right through the Ghouls we’re working so hard at avoiding.”

“Through them?”

“I can handle them, I’m sure of my armor even against weapons like theirs, but I don’t want to take needless risks.” Danse nodded, looking over the waiting Raiders and sighing almost bitterly. “And, sad as it may be for you to hear, I can’t risk estranging, or outright engaging, Commonwealth factions where it can be avoided. It would mean war, if the Brotherhood comes here after all. And I would have the blood of my brother’s on my head for rushing in.”

“No, I understand, but these guys…” Preston growled, tucking the rifle against his chest and turning to look up at the Paladin beside him, “These guys are the worst of the worst, even for Raiders. Slaving, killing, raping- The Assembly at least has some rules, but these guys are cut loose when they get sent out. You know how they initiate their warriors?”

“No.” Danse murmured, “How?”

“They make ‘em go on a raid and bring someone back, alive, to put in a cage.” He answered, turning and growling towards the waiting savages, loud enough they could hear him clear as day. He could tell, they smiled for it. “Then they dunk that cage into molten metal, the poor bastard still screaming and everything. Once that’s done, they’re allowed to make their armor by melting down armor and scrap.”

“I see.” Danse sighed, resting his sword across his shoulders and sighing. “I’m sorry, though, I still can’t start a war without being forced to, Preston. Not in good conscience.”

“Yeah, well-”

“Gettin’ tired of waitin’ on ya up here, Tin Man!” One of the now-seven Raiders called challengingly, cocking his armored head to the side. “Pay a toll n’ pass, go around through Zombieland over yonder, or fight and lemme get that there Power Armor to slag. Don’t really care what ya pick, but pick somethin’ already, damnit.”

“Yeah!” Another, a woman this time even though he couldn’t tell with the super heavy, rounded armor they wore. “Only got one ‘o them race car lovin’ bastards. Need a couple more for a burnin’ in a week or so. Wanna volunteer?”

“Burning…?”

“They sacrifice slaves and prisoners to the factory’s smelters, to ‘keep the heat’ or, I don’t know, something along those lines.” Honestly, ‘tribe’ worked a lot better to describe the brutal, backwards Forged than it did the Assembly, as fucked up as both were at the end of the day. Raising his voice he asked, “What kind of toll would you take?”

“Oh, you wanna pay?” The first Raider laughed, pounding the long pole of his weapon against the ancient concrete, “Leave yer armor, drop your shit, and you can walk on by then, boys.” He snapped his fingers and held them both to his weapon, laughing, “Swear on me metal!”

“His metal…?”

“No idea.” Preston shrugged, “We’re not leaving all our gear! That’s nothing but suicide on a time delay!” 

“Then go around or make our fuckin’ day!” The man laughed, the last of his fellows trickling into their formation to make nine Raiders. 

At a gesture the group spaced out and traded their polearms into their off hands, their dominant ones drawing well-made javelins from their rough leather sacks. These weren’t Forged javelins, though, he could tell from how clean and grey the steel was. They’d taken them from Assembly skirmishers, the likes of which scouted the outer edges of Assembly territory and harried ahead of their raiding parties.

He knew pretty well what those broad, hardened heads would do to him, mail and padded jacket be damned.

“Make the call, Preston.” Danse sighed beside him, turning an impassive, armored look on him. “I’ve allied the Brotherhood with you well enough that whatever you do will reflect on us anyway. And we’re short on options besides.”

“We go through ‘em. Only way we got.” Preston nodded, earning the same in return. “No Forged survivors, Paladin. Nowhere to put ‘em and no way to keep ‘em. From running home and starting more problems.”

“Understood.” The massive, armored man murmured gravely, lifting his shield and turning so that it hid most of him from view. “I will engage them in melee, then. Support me from long range and don’t worry if you hit me. My armor can withstand the damage.”

“If you say so…”

The man only nodded and turned, sword across his shoulders as he marched against the Raiders. The men and women, backwards and barbaric as they were, weren’t stupid. A couple shouted for them to volley and they did, javelins soaring high and coming down against the Paladin’s shield. Screeching, pinging and banging off his shield and into the pavement, the volley did nothing to the armored man. Still the Raiders brought forth more javelins to throw.

A lance of ruby red slammed into the throwing shoulder of one on the far left, melting through his armor and the flesh beneath it. The poor bastard stumbled back, screaming and looking down on his limp, ruined arm. A second lance of bright ruby caught him in the chest and pitched him back, gurgling and splaying out on the pavement. The others still threw their javelins, but again they dinged off Danse’s shield uselessly.

And then he was on them, slamming a boot up and into the center-most Raider’s chest. He crumpled and flew back and away, dead before he could make a sound and Danse brought his foot down. The Raiders tried to scatter but he turned, swinging his overly large sword around and crushing three more under its weight and nearly wiping out their entire right flank in one fell swoop. The last tried to turn and run but Danse stepped forward and caught him in the back with his shield, snapping him back over his shield at a disgusting angle, arms splayed back so far his hands hung over the opposite rim of his shield.

Of the remaining four, one tried to flee and was cut down by three lances of precise ruby red, scoring into his back and, on the last shot, through his chest and out the other side. Two of the last three brought their polearms to bear, slamming into Danse’s back with all the force they could muster. The man flinched more for the weight of the weapons and his armor’s reactions and shifting than anything, but suffered little more than that.

The last of the remaining three leapt on his back as he tried to turn on them, casually and lethally swatting one aside with his shield as he did. Climbing on the armored man like a particularly lethal toddler on his father’s back, the Raider fumbled with his helmet, trying to get it off while his last ally did his best to avoid the man’s flailing shield and sword. For a minute, she managed it, until she brought her hammer down on his shoulder and caught Danse’s shield across her face for her efforts. 

With no more Raiders to threaten him, and Danse still struggling to get the man off of him, Preston jogged up to them to try to help. The Raider managed to pull his helmet off at last, throwing it away and laughing as Danse scowled up at him. Abandoning his weapons he tried to reach up to grab the evil, laughing spidermonkey on his back but the Raider ducked away from his hands, pulling a little knife off his waist. Seeing Preston trying to aim, Danse grimaced and stood still, watching the Raider raise his knife to stab down into his involuntary mount’s neck.

Instead, a lance of ruby red slammed into the side of the inattentive Raider’s head and he went limp, falling off the Paladin’s back, melted metal and skull bubbling.

“So.” Preston murmured, “That went well…”

“Better than it would have if I’d been alone.” His armored companion grumbled, sighing and accepting his helmet back when Preston retrieved it and offered it to him. Putting it back on and stooping to retrieve his weaponry, he explained, “We employ light infantry to stop exactly what you just saw. A Paladin or Knight in Power Armor can be devastating, but you saw what can happen when we wade in without support.”

“Well, we’re all fine, so-”

“Whoever the fuck is out there, you wanna let me out?” A voice ground out from one of the tents. Looking at each other, the two moved through the little camp to it and pulled it open on a naked man, bound and left in the back of it who scowled up at them through a swollen eye. Grinding out around a swollen lip, he grumbled, “Forged bastards caught me out on a patrol. Killed my men and kicked the fuck outta me. You killed ‘em, yeah?”

“We did…”

“Then cut me loose, damn it.” The man grumbled again, “I’ll see the Assembly knows about this. You that Minute Man from up North, yeah?”

“I am.” He sighed, thinking and quickly knowing what the General would want him to do. And what was pragmatic given their coming plans, as much as he hated it. Stepping into the tent and picking up a knife that, judging from his cut and healing armor, had been used for entertainment he started cutting the binds. “I’ll let you out of here if you do me a favor and put in a good word. The General and I are on our way to Corvega and we… Want to secure a meeting with your leadership.”

“I can pass the word up, yeah.” The man grumbled, watching Preston cut him free. Once he could, he sat up and started rubbing his wrists gently to get the blood flowing. “You can leave me here if ya don’t mind. They got my gear ‘round here somewhere, so I’ll get kitted out and head home. Gate guards’ll be friendly when you show up, you count on that.”

“Right.” Preston sighed, turning and retrieving his Laser Rifle. Shouting over a shoulder he added a parting, “Good luck.”

Stomach uneasy more for saving the Raider than for the smell of melted metal and cooked Human, Preston turned to move on. Either disquieted himself or simply able to read Preston’s modd, Danse said nothing. Instead he simply trundled forward to lead them on, up the road and around the corner toward the old ArcJet installation. They had a job to do and it went unsaid by either that they should get back to it already and get home.

Hopefully without any more Raiders for Preston to have to rescue.

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“I’m surprised you were willing to just let a Raider walk like that.” Surprised and impressed, too, Nora didn’t add. 

“Yeah, well, figured it was the smart play with everything going on. Having an in wit the bastards oughta be useful.” He grunted, watching the city around them while Nora herself watched Haylen work on the old antenna array. How it was still functioning she had no idea, but it was, and Preston seemed unsurprised by it. Quietly, Preston asked, “That was the right call, right, General?”

“You did what I would have done, at least. For whatever that’s worth.” She answered, turning from the working Scribe to look out over the city, the setting sun casting in in long shadows and orange rays of ruddy light. It was beautiful, in a way… 

If she couldn’t see Ghouls in the distance, prowling for food but unwilling to risk the Sentry Bot. 

Following her gaze he asked, quietly, “How’s the robot’s power looking?”

“It can run its weapon’s systems on two Cores, so while you were out, Haylen cycled out the Cores to recharge them.” A tedious process, and somewhat risky, but very much a needed one. If it shut down the Ghouls would have swarmed, and as much as they had a plan she hadn’t fancied actually having to put it to use. “It’s around ninety percent, now, since the drain on each Core was more than when spread out over three.”

“I mean, ninety is better than, uh, whatever it was at this morning…?” 

“Fifteen percent or so, though the numbers aren’t exact across them.” The man whistled at her words and she smiled, nodding sympathetically. “I asked Haylen to help me recharge the robot and she explained that it’s probably their age doing that. After so long charging and recharging, even those advanced Fusion Cores start to wear down. But it’s a small enough variance not to have to worry about it.”

“Haylen would know, I guess.” Preston shrugged, “The Brotherhood uses Power Armor and Fusion Core powered weapons, so they’d have learned all about it.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me...” And god did she hope to get some of that technology added to their arsenal. If she could produce the more generators like they’d brought back from the Super Duper Mart, they’d be a quite literal powerhouse. But she could consider it later and set it aside for now. “Whatever the case, the robot is prepared and charged for another day or so, unless we get into another fight like we did yesterday.”

“Yeah…”

“What did you find at ArcJet then?” She asked, turning to give the man a look and adjusting her sling into a more comfortable spot. “You mentioned it was strange.”

“Yeah, it was.” He nodded, adjusting his new Laser Rifle in his hand. “When we got there, we breached expecting to deal with security. Old turrets, maybe some robots, that sort of thing.”

“Right.” She’d been in enough places like that back before the War to know precisely how heavy-duty security could be in some of those places. “Did you run into something? It can’t have been that bad, Danse’s armor isn’t damaged and neither of you are hurt.”

“That’s the thing, General.” He answered, “We didn’t find anything.”

“What…?” Nothing at all? “That should be impossible if the place was still closed up. Which it had to be for something as advanced and one-of-a-kind as that special transmitter to still be there.”

“That’s what we thought when we got there, too.” Preston nodded, eyes scanning over the city below and around them passively as he spoke. “By the time we got there, though, security had been dealt with. A while ago, too, the damage was old. Not, like, years old or anything, but a few weeks maybe. Or a month.”

“A month…?” 

“The laser blasts were covered in a thin little layer of dust. It was thinner around ‘em than on the walls and things further out, too.” He answered, reaching out with a glove to run his finger along the underside of an old barricade, built along with others along the roof’s edge like medieval fortifications. Holding his finger up so she could see the little bit of grime he explained, “Dust and grime gets burned off around laser blasts when they hit, but these were just a bit dusty.”

“So it had been a while, then…”

“Yep.” He nodded, wiping the grime off on his coat and turning his attention back to the old city. “And everything had been gutted. Computers, supplies, technical documents Danse said should have been left behind by the scavengers- Hell, even Danse said that was weird, since outside the Brotherhood’s Scribes, no one really takes those. He’s personally seen ruins looted over for decades still have those, tucked away in drawers.”

“It makes a certain kind of sense.” Technical documents might not be all that useful to most people, since you either used what you carried off or parted it out to repair other things. Technical documents from a research institution would be little use, then, unless you wanted a specific one. “That means that some kind of tech scavengers were there. Roboticists maybe?”

“Only group that’d do that would be the Rust Devils, but they’re down on the other side of Boston.” Preston turned to point South, explaining as her eyes followed his finger to the distant, clawing and skeletal remains of Boston itself far and away from them, “They like to scrap robots and wear ‘em or use ‘em for raiding, if they can reprogram them and keep them working. They’ll look over tech documents, but I don’t figure this was them.”

“Why not?”

“No blood anywhere.” He explained simply as he turned back, “Even if they were winning handily, someone is going to get cut. Or they’ll leave something behind. Trash, maybe, or signs of camping indoors after a hard fight and a day or two of scavving.”

“Yeah.” And she knew by now that you didn’t give up shelter like that for the open road. It was simply foolish to. 

“No blood, no trash, no signs of camping and only signs of energy weapons, hell, there weren’t even treads or atmo-burns like a Handy or Gutsy would leave behind.” The man shook his head and sighed, grimacing, “Hell, there’s what looked like an old rocket assembly area and even that was gutted. But in the back, all the way through the place, we still found the transmitter.”

“Where at?”

“On a desk in the back of the testing area.” He answered, “Everything ‘round it gutted, but the little thing still had the transmitter tucked away in it. Nice ‘n clean, like it hadn’t been touched.”

“That’s… Very, very strange.” Why wouldn’t whoever it was leave blood and trash behind? Why would they clean out so much, only to leave a very advanced piece of technology right out in the open for them? “It doesn’t make sense, but for now there’s nothing to be done for it. We got the item in question and, hopefully, we can leave tomorrow to deal with more pressing concerns.”

“Speaking of!” Haylen called from across the roof, the two turning to see the woman kneeling in front of a sheltered terminal and a rigged up microphone. “I have it installed. I’ll just record a message and set it to loop for the night. In the morning I’ll get to work breaking down what I can of the old antenna array and we can head out.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’ll be done around noon.” She answered with a grimace, hands working over the machinery she’d set up to check it over. “But if I take my time, I can make this unusable for anyone but us. Later, we can come back for it and move it to… Well, wherever we want to set it up.”

“ArcJet’s automated security was destroyed, but we could make a run to see if any of it’s worth carrying back on the same one we would need for this.” Preston offered quietly as they approached the woman, “Both would be pretty damn useful.”

“Noon is fine.” She sighed, shrugging and immediately regretting it as pain lanced through her arm. Gritting her teeth she growled, somewhat more agitated than she’d have preferred, “We’ll deal with everything else when we get to it. For now, I’m going to get things set up for dinner. Haylen, you going to be around to lend a hand?”

“Be down in ten.” The woman nodded, kind eyes watching her arm shift knowingly. “Take it easy, General.”

“Right…” She sighed, turning and heading for the door while the day’s new mysteries and oddities ran through her mind and tacked themselves onto her list of the strange.

Just another mystery to solve, eventually...

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So tried something new, with a Preston POV. Lemme know what you think?

And oh~! More mysteries~! More differences~! They’re too late to get to ArcJet before it’s raided by someone, but who did it- Okay, yeah, I know, you all know it was the Institute. 

But why was the Deep Range Transmitter there, then? Out in the open? How odd~

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Dark Paladin 89 :

Yeah, I seem to be taking ‘consider what a people eat and what that says about their culture’ a bit far. Lol. But eh, is fun.

Blaze 1992 :

Paladin Danse is the only Power Armored infantry there. Rhys’ was damaged, and the others were light infantry. 

Blocking the door would be an effective defense, for a while, assuming the Ghouls don’t simply use their weight of mass to overwhelm and swarm over and around Danse. Starting the defense outside makes sense, though, as this would remain an option. They could withdraw to the door for the second line, and fight through to the basement exit if need be, out the motor pool. 

The Knight who went up on the barricade was part of this defense strategy. Rhys was up there too at an earlier, unseen stage of the fight. They held the barricade’s top, Danse held the lower level, and they would withdraw as needed. A simple plan, if one that failed quickly on contact with the enemy, and one explained since… I have no way to answer this in-story. >.>

Also, in the Fallout universe and in real life, America did act in these ways. I’m drawing on canon ideas, and you can look at the Little Yangtze camp in the Big MT for one source, Irl I draw on our Japanese WWII internment camps and Red Scare culture as well.


	17. To The Heap

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Beta(s) : 

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So I magically did a dumb and missed that the route they took would carry them past Covenant. My bad, noticed it now, will… Come up with something for it later. Sorry.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The next, and final, morning they spent in the old Police Station, was a flurry of somewhat familiar activity. 

Danse, out of his armor since the Ghouls still hadn’t worked up the courage to try it against the robot’s heavy laser, set to work portioning out their supplies and trading some of their salvaged Pork’n’Beans out for proper, Brotherhood ration packs. She’d taken a look in a couple of them and found canned vegetables and fruit in a long variety, tins of pre-made biscuits and sticks of dried meat in a variety from beef to Mole-Rat and even chicken as well as the canned water and even blended fruit and vegetable juice.

The sheer variety was… Well, very, very impressive to say the least.

“See something you like, General?” Danse laughed, earning an embarrassed little flush from her while she closed the crate back up. Chuckling, the tall Paladin turned to sit on the edge of the Vertibird’s open door and smiled. “Brotherhood doctrine, nutrition and variety hold equal importance.”

“Makes sense.” She nodded, turning to sit beside him and wait on the rest of their group. Her arm ached when the motion of sitting jstles it, drawing a hiss of surprised pain from her earning a worried look from the man that she waved off. “Food variety is a good way to maintain high morale. Which is necessary for an effective fighting force to function. About sum it up?”

“Such is the thinking, yes.” Danse nodded, taking a sip from a Brotherhood water can and sighing contently. “I’d think you would know more about that problem than I would, though.”

“Yeah I would.” She sighed, watching Haylen and Rhys emerge from the Police station with large, Brotherhood packs filled to the brim with their supplies and whatever salvage Haylen had deemed too valuable to leave. 

How they’d possibly carry that safely all the way back to Sanctuary she didn’t know…

“They’ll be fine.” Danse assured her, as though reading her mind. She gave him a sidelong glance and he smiled, “Rhys and Haylen have both been well trained by the Brotherhood. They’ll follow us out, as planned, and then make their way the way you said to. Might take them a while to get there, but they’re supplied enough. As long as they aren’t in this Feral infested hell, they’ll get there.”

“The way we plotted out last night should be safe enough.” It was outside the city, and fairly long, but it would lead them around to the old radar station. From there, they knew how to get to the Scrapyard and those there would be able to direct the newcomers to Sanctuary safely. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the route you and Preston settled on to get to old Corvega.”

“As am I, General.” The man sighed resignedly, “Down the coast and into the city sounds simple enough on paper… But according to mister Garvey, the territory is wild. Well, if being settled by raider gangs, tribes and so-called nations could ever really be.”

“Not a fan?” She smiled when he harrumphed like an old man would, shaking his head animatedly. “Preston isn’t either.”

“And he shouldn’t be.” The man growled, shaking his head slowly. It looked like he was chewing the words for a long moment, the way his jaw worked. Finally, he spoke, “Raiders, slavers, tribals- A trader we encountered told me about one from the Glowing Sea, nothing but Ghouls and Super Mutants.”

“I see.” And now he sounded like an old man, too, the way he was talking. But it wasn’t her place to say anything, really. Even if she knew enough to want to. “I’ve been told by Preston that mutants are intelligent, too. So I suppose it makes sense that some of them would be Raiders.”

“Hmph. Implying any of them could be decent.” The man sighed tiredly, shaking his head and waving her off again. “Just ignore me, General. This is why I hate idle time, waiting to move. I start running my damn mouth and, well… Just forget it.”

“Sure.” Why would he bring it up if he didn’t want to talk about it? Opting for a change in subject she asked, “Will you be able to handle working with them, then?”

“I can follow orders, General.”

“You’re not under my command, Danse.” She pointed out quietly, “This entire idea, us traveling together, is meant to get us to trust each other. Honesty is part of that.”

“I’ll speak my mind in private, if I need to, but I’m assuming you have some kind of endgame in place.” She nodded and he returned the gesture, sighing tiredly. Smiling, the large man assured her, “Then I’ll follow your lead, General. That was the deal after all, and I’m a man of my word.”

“That’s good to hear.” She smiled, glad for the man’s trust. But, as Nate had always said, blind trust went about as far and got you as much as a blind marksman. So she added, “The short version is that the Assembly has an apparently chronic water shortage problem, due to their location. I have a small river that feeds into a lake, and a Vault water purifier tapping into a deep aquifer besides.”

“So you’re planning to… Buy them off with water?”

“Kind of.” She nodded, “Using trade, I can influence them. Influencing them, I can buy and free slaves, negotiate border agreements to guarantee protection for my people…”

“Not a bad way to approach things given everything.” Danse murmured, seeming to think and consider the idea for a long time. Finally, quietly, the man spoke, “The Brotherhood did something similar in the Capital Wasteland. There were a lot of settlements scraping by on water, unable to grow crops properly since they had to conserve so much.”

“I’m sensing that that changed.”

“Very much so.” The man sighed, sounding… Almost regretful, somehow. But he rose and nodded towards the building before she could ask after it, grunting, “Haylen and Rhys are done, it seems.”

True enough, she turned to see the two soldiers and even Preston coming her way, two of them carrying their heavy packs and armed for the trip.

With the very real threat of the Ghouls watching their little group in mind, they let the two into the Vertibird and trundled off, back the way they’d come. They let their two passengers off at the same bridge where the Paladin and Preston had skirmished with the very far from home Forged raiders. Then they turned North, headed around and towards the rear of the old factory, where the Ghouls would have long since been driven off.

The irony on what their chosen, supposedly Ghoul-free route had run them into was very much not lost on her. 

In his armor, and with so much in the Vertibird, Danse couldn’t ride along with the rest of them. Instead, he marched beside the composite carriage. Needing to keep at a pace that wouldn’t over-tax the Power Armor meant they moved slowly. So slow, in fact, that they could easily have just been walking. But there wasn’t anything they could do about it, unless she wanted to send a heavily armored and, for her meagre forces at least, unkillably armored man back to her center of operations. 

That was about as likely to happen as her riding a Deathclaw into battle, of course, so slow and steady they went.

Past the bridge the world became starkly different so suddenly it was almost comical. The roads were still broken and cracked, but they were clear. The cars had been removed, hauled off presumably to be scrapped by the Raiders. The little buildings here at the edge of town, most barely more than two stories tall and all heavily damaged if not reduced to piles of rubble, had been long since looted out and boarded up. To prevent Ghoul packs moving in from the open wilderness on their left, she supposed.

Almost all of the signs had been ripped down, she realized after a while. Store signs, billboards, advertisements and even street signs, it didn’t matter. Metal was metal, she supposed, and they’d all been ripped down and toted back for that reason. The power lines had been pulled down too, probably for the copper, but the poles that had held them up had been left. From them hung great round shields as big as she was. They were old, rusted, but their black paint had held up impressively enough.

The same symbol of a silver gear inside a tire had been painted on each, marking out the territory of the Assembly.

“It’s quiet…”

“Yeah.” Preston nodded beside her as they trundled along, past the old and boarded up buildings. “Assembly runs patrols out here, and they send hunters and trappers into the woods, but… Too exposed to settle out here.”

“I bet, yeah.” She could just imagine a Deathclaw scenting something meaty in one of those houses. The monsters would rip through these houses like paper… “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any fortifications, though. Outposts or something.”

“Assembly mostly has people around the old plant, they walled up a few blocks around it and… Restored, I guess is the word, a few of the apartment buildings for people to live in.” Preston answered, sounding as agitated as he typically did when he had to talk about the Raiders. “We’re on the edge of their territory, General. They run patrols, sure, just like they do out towards ArcJet and even the Police Station in Cambridge.”

“Sensing a but…”

“But,” the man smiled at her, shaking his head, “they tend to keep themselves together. Easier to maintain control that way, and less space to defend. They have to protect against the beasts out there, hunt and forage, teams to manage trade with the nearby farming communities like Graygarden and Oberland, or hunt down anything causing trouble.”

“All a good drain on manpower.” Casualties aside, the amount of manpower needed to manage, organize and conduct such affairs was staggering. And, she was sure, something she’d need to see to one day. 

“Yeah.” The man sighed, adding under his breath, “Of course, if they’d let the slaves go, they wouldn’t need the minders.”

“Mhm.” She couldn’t argue with him, really. Slavery was inefficient and harmful to a nation’s prospects, and she wouldn’t be able to withstand allowing it forever.

“Anyway, we’re coming up on their big scrapping base.” Preston warned, sighing and shaking off his melancholy. She gave him a questioning look and he shrugged unsurely, “Dunno what to tell you ‘cept what’s on the tin, General. Some old disposal place or something like that.”

“Disposal…” She blinked after a few seconds as she thought and remembered, memories of Nate dredged up and making her choke for a long second before she could silence the distant emotional pangs. Preston gave her a look and she sighed, pinched her nose, and admitted through clenched teeth, “Nate told me about a place near here back in the day. An old disposal site, Jalbert Brother’s.”

“Might be it, yeah.” He gave her a look for a moment until she turned one on him and he sighed, “Just worried ‘bout you is all, General.”

“Yeah, I know.” She nodded, shaking her own melancholy off and waving for him to go on. “When will we get there, then?”

“Uh…” He stood and poked his head out the old frame for the windows they’d removed and looked back, towards the front of the carriage. “Now, Ma’am.”

As if on cue, the machine shuddered to a stop and called a warning Danse matched, “Raiders coming, General.”

Disembarking with Preston at her side she was faced with a handful of relatively anxious looking Assembly raiders wearing wide round shields and carrying long spears. Like before, back outside the Museum of Freedom, they wore mail hauberks reinforced and backed by leather vambraces and greaves. Their helmets were simple, too, as before. One wore a cloak with a hood drawn up over his helmet and a featureless metal mask obscuring his face, though. 

An officer, she supposed, who stepped forward as they approached.

“Identify.” The barrel of a man barked firmly, watching the Sentry Bot which in turn slowly turned to face him, leveling its heavy cannon on him threateningly. “Identify,” he repeated firmly, unphased by the machine, “and stand down.”

“General Nora and Preston Garvey, of the New Commonwealth Minutemen.” She answered, adding the ‘new’ partially on impulse and partially because it was true. They were the new Minutemen, and she needed that to be obvious. “This is Danse, a… Traveling companion of ours. Sentry Bot,” she added to finish, “stand down.”

“I see.” The man nodded, relaxing somewhat as the machine returned to its resting position. Why it had acted in the first place she didn’t know, but that was a question for later. Quietly, he demanded, “Business? Minute Men don’t tend to like us Assembly men very much, typically.”

“I imagine.”

“I don’t need to.” The man growled, snapping his fingers and ordering his men into a shield wall behind him. “One of their little militia groups blasted by brother. Everythin’ below the legs, ash. Took ‘im a week to die because a bunch of farmers didn’t wanna pay us what we’re due.”

“What you’re-” Her arm snapped out to catch Preston as he stepped forward, the man hissing and stepping back in line behind her. Finally, he asked, “Where?”

“Hm?”

“Where did your brother get shot at?” Preston explained, “Up north, down south? Off by the sea? Where?”

“...South.” The Raider eventually answered, turned so his shield covered most of him but not yet stepping back into the shieldline he’d ordered formed. “Past Cambridge a ways. Traders wanted a caravan escort to a little town, part of the deal we talked out was food, rest n’ water to take back from the stopping point.”

“Let me guess,” Preston sighed, “you showed up expecting the trade and got shot at from all sides?”

“Wasn’t there.” The man admitted warily, face hidden behind his helmet’s front but no doubt watching them closely. “But yeah. Couple o’ runners that’d been watching the rear told us that’s how it went down.”

“Would’ve been Mets then.” Preston said, sighing and looking over his Laser Rifle idly. The best way to disarm someone, she knew, was to act like there wasn’t a reason to be worried about a fight breaking out. That told people that you knew there wasn’t cause for one, and gave them pause. “Bastard liked ambushes and tricks like that. The Colonel didn’t like him, hell a lot of regiments didn’t, because of how trigger happy he could be.”

“Sayin’ you weren’t with them…?”

“Nope.” Preston answered crisply, turning that bright, disarming smile he always had on. “Matter o’ fact about… A year and a half ago now, maybe? Time’s fuzzy on it, sorry. But anyway, he was stripped of his Musket. Drummed out of the Minutemen, because he staged one of his little traps and hit a civilian caravan on mistake.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, seriously.” Preston sighed, shaking his head tiredly and jerking a thumb over his shoulder, pointed back the way they’d come. “Down south, nearer to Diamond City than here. It was a big scandal down there, the way I heard it.”

“I think I remember hearing something about that.” The man murmured, just loud enough she could hear. Preston could too, apparently, though he only shrugged and nodded for it. A whistle and the men and women with him relaxed, the man asking, “So, what brings you lot here then?”

“We’re on our way to Corvega.” She answered, Preston stepping back to let her speak now that she’d stepped up to the proverbial plate again. The man cocked his head suspiciously and she explained, “I heard that the Assembly is in desperate need of water, and I’m sure that carries down to your… Workers.”

“Out at the Heap, water isn’t that rough to get, at least enough to scrape by.” The armored man answered, “But down in the city, yeah. Lot of bodies need water, and not a lot of water comes in. Part of the Heap’s job is protecting this road for water traders and our own men, toting water up and down the road. From the river.”

“Right.” She nodded, accepting the information even if she already mostly knew it. It paid to be polite, though, especially at times like these. “I want to set up a caravan line between Sanctuary and Corvega itself, trading water in abundance for workers, tools, armor, the whole nine yards.”

“Abundance you say?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, turning and nodding her head back, towards the Vertibird, “I can show you some of the goods we brought already if you want a sample.”

“You got enough to be giving out free samples?” She noted the extra emphasis on ‘free’ with a little chuckle and nodded, smiling warmly at the man. After a moment, he lifted his spear and stepped around her, Nora following behind and then climbing into the open Vertibird when they reached it.

“Here.” He grunted, fishing out an old Nuka Cola bottle of fresh, clear water and handing it down to him. 

“Thanks.” The man grunted, turning bodily away from her and tipping his helmet up to take a long, greedy drink. The man must have been thirsty because when he turned around, mask back in place, the bottle was empty. “That,” he grunted, handing it back to her to presumably reuse, “is some good, clean water.”

“I’m glad to satisfy.” She smiled, fishing five more out and tucking the empty one into the crate. Holding them all out, she smiled, “For your men, with my compliments and best intentions.”

He took them and, while they walked back, she popped the cap off of hers and took a drink. That way they couldn’t suspect poison as the reason for her kindness. Which, by process of elimination, she knew would tell them to be grateful to her.

“I’ll send word down to Old Corvega that you want to meet with the Chieftain, General.” The man said while his soldiers enjoyed what was probably the purest, most crisp water of their lives. Strangely there was real respect in his voice when he said her title. Was water like this really so valued out here…? “For now, please, come and spend the night at the Heap. Put you up with room n’ board.”

“That would be nice.” Assuming ‘the Heap’ was only a moniker and not a descriptor, at least. And that Preston, who was a far better actor than she’d given him credit for, didn’t have an aneurysm, kill someone, or potentially both somehow. Smiling politely she bowed her head, “Lead the way then, sir.”

With a nod, the armored raider whistled, his men and women rising and moving to walk beside their machine two to a side while the four of them lead the way. Soon, she got a good look at the Heap, and her first real example of post-war construction.

The old Scrapyard had been built up on a slight, but tall, hill according to how Nate had described it. Stacked cars just inside fences circled it, with a few buildings in the back. Nothing special, back then. Just a junkyard to stack crap no one needed and no one could properly get rid of. Now, though, it had been truly rebuilt, even if it served apparently much the same purpose.

Around it, spread for a hundred feet or so, were piles of junk. Metal, cars, signs, concrete, wood, everything that had come up and one point or another from the road they’d come from and seemingly more. Slaves, or she guessed they were from the ratty rags they wore and the armored Raiders watching over them like hawks, bundles of javelins on their backs, were working at the piles. Extracting materials and then hauling them off to huge processing buildings built up directly outside the walls. Wood was burned for charcoal, metal was being categorized and then melted into ingots, and concrete was being smashed into fine grains to, according to Preston, be remixed into fresh concrete elsewhere.

It was, truly and utterly, an industrial zone. And in a way, it made her jealous.

The Heap itself, presumably named for its surroundings now she saw them, looked less like an old junkyard and more like… Well, like Fort Sanctuary did. 

The cars that had once formed the outline had been replaced by thick, log walls fronted by steel like they’d done at Sanctuary. They were tall, too. Enough to tower over even the Sentry Bot by a good five feet or so. A towering watchtower dominated the center of the complex, a hundred feet tall and supported by metal legs with a wooden staircase that circled it all the way up to its apex.

Inside, though the heavy, reinforced and well-made iron gate, the space was surprisingly open. A wide yard with a small target range on one side, and rows of cabins that circled the other two long, tall walls. Just like at Sanctuary, she realized with a blink, turning to find a pot boiling with stew just inside the gate, under a little shelter built seeming for it with half-log benches to sit at and eat surrounding it.

“Sturges designed our cabin setup back home.” Preston explained when she turned to him with a confused look, “Tinker design. So, it’s pretty common to see it.”

“It doesn’t look like it can house many people, though…” There were maybe enough cabins for two dozen people. Twice that if you didn’t mind using them as bunkhouses, though the smoke puffing chimneys spoke of space dedicated to heating and cooking so she was willing to bet that wasn’t the case.

“The slaves don’t stay here.” Their guide informed them, turning to his three guests while the robot trundled to a stop in the open area beside the target range, set to a hard passive so he didn’t attack those training there. “Most of the minders will escort them back a couple hours from-” A loud bell, up in the tower, tolled suddenly and the man laughed, waving a hand towards it, “Well, right about now, actually.”

“So they stay down in the city and come up to work?” He nodded and Nora hummed. It wasn’t the most efficient thing, but it fit with the ‘keep everything together’ modus operandi Preston said they used. “I see,” she nodded, “thanks for explaining that.”

“No problem.” The man nodded, adding, “Also, the walls are hollow. Bunks in ‘em for the night guards to change shifts in, but be close enough to fight. Sothere’s a bit more space for bedding down than you might think.”

“I see, I see. Impressive work.” That would be useful to know, if they ever had to go to war with the Assembly, so she filed the tidbit away for later and affected a theatrical yawn. “Whoo, today has been a slog. You mind if my men and I get some food and rest?”

“Of course.” The man nodded, snapping a finger and summoning one of their escorts. “Go with the minders to Old Corvega. Tell them who's here and why, and ask for permission for them to come in for a proper meet n’ greet.”

“Yes, Small Chief.” The soldier nodded, “Will that be all?”

“Order two guards to be ready to keep guard over our friends.” The ‘Small Chief’ answered quietly, turning a look on Danse’s armor. “Last thing I want is some upstart moron getting smart with Power Armor around.” Danse stiffened audibly and the man added, to the guard and Sande both she suspected, “Anyone tries, they’ll be sentenced to solo patrols out in Cambridge. Got it?”

“If he survives trying…” Danse murmured, earning a snort and a nod from the armored guide.

“Yes, Small Chief.”

“Good.” He nodded, “Go.” With a last nod and an Assembly salute, the young raider turned to jog off and carry out his orders. They watched him go, for a moment, before the ‘Little Chief’ clapped his hands and sighed, “Now then, I’ll show you to our best quarters. They aren’t the grandest, but they’re warm and come with beds.”

“They’ll do.” She smiled, “They’ll do just fine.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

Nick (Guest) :

I was testing that out here, actually. So maybe.

Blaze 1992 :

I wouldn’t go that far, but you know who’s acts thus far will differ from canon by a good bit.

Darkpaladin89 :

A sound plan!

Cyclone : 

Glad you enjoy it!


	18. The Foremen

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Wrote this with a fever in the triple digits.

Am getting better as I finish it for post, though.

Sorry for any dip in quality.

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Their cabin was, as she’d expected, small but well-made and meant for only a few to stay in it. A sitting and eating area occupied the front half, simple but more than enough for their needs. One one side of the back were two simple little bunk beds, with curtains hanging that could hide each bed in case someone wanted rest while others were up. On the other was a kitchen, with rustic counters, a few cooking and preparation utensils, and a simplistic, black iron wood fire grill.

The inside wall to either side had built-in shelving, too, complete with ancient books, magazines and a handful of newer, more rugged looking leather bound books. 

“It’s been a while since I saw a real book…” She murmured, trailing her fingers along old, barely held-together spines and leather backing alike as she walked along the shelves. 

“You like books a lot, right?” Preston asked, settling in on the rather simple, fur and leather backed couch that split the sitting area from the sleeping one. “You mentioned in your story from before that you liked to read. Nate too. And lookin’ at you, you look happy as a Raider with a laser rifle just seein’ books.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugged and chuckled, tugging a random, leather bound book free and turning to sit in a chair nearby to him. Running her thumb over the thick, rough front of the book, she went on, “Nate and I used to read together when he got back from work. It was… It was really nice.”

“I can tell, General. I’ve seen starving men look at a hot meal with less reverence than you are some old Raider book.” The man nodded, watching her closely for a long, quiet moment. Long enough she started to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny, drawing a sigh from the man, “Sorry, just… Worried.”

“About…?”

“About you falling down the hole, General.” Danse rumbled as he joined them. Or rather, as he sat their plates down on the arms of Preston’s couch and her chair and then moved to sit at the dining table. Taking a bite of his biscuit, dipped in a hot tinful of his Pork’n’Beans, the man explained, “He’s worried the weight of everything will hit you and drag you down into a hole you can’t get out of. Here in the proverbial Deathclaw’s den, that is an uncomfortable prospect to say the least.”

“I see.” She sighed, drumming her thumb on the book in thought. Giving each of them a look “I’m fine.”

“I just worry, General.” The man sighed, taking his own plate and cutting slivers of the dried and rehydrated, broiled beef slab to put on his own biscuits. “It’s how I am,” he went on, “I worry. About all of my friends, all of my colleagues. Superiors, inferiors, doesn’t really matter. Just… How I am.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Preston.” In fact, it was incredibly useful for building an organization such as the one they wanted to build. The compassion there would lead the man to keep his eye on the organization under them, and thus benefit their long-term morale and overall effectiveness.

“But,” she added, enunciating the ‘T’ and smiling playfully for both their benefits, “I am fine. Just… Nostalgic for better- Or, well, different times, I guess.”

“If you say so, I’ll trust you, General.” The dark-skinned man sighed, taking a hunk out of the mini-sandwich he’d made for himself. Chewing slowly he sighed, enjoying his bite before adding, quietly, “What’s the book you got there, then?”

Opening it, she read the hand-written title, scrawled in a very fine display of penmanship for what was probably a Raider, “‘The Den of the Deathclaw and the Shine of my Steel’, by Forgemaster Fugue.”

“Nice, that’s a good one.” Preston smiled, actually smiled, giving the leather bound book a second, more appreciative look. “It was written years back, just a century after the Great War went down. We don’t actually know who Forgemaster Fugue was, but-”

“Were the Tribes slaving like they are now back then?” She asked, drawing a surprised look from a man and then a nod. Returning the nod she smiled warmly, skimming the first few pages, “It’s a pseudonym, then, probably. Fugue is a psychological state of dissociation, where a person suffers a mental lapse, of sorts, and believes themselves to be something else entirely.” 

“Never heard of it.” 

“I have.” Danse growled from the table, smiling when they both turned to look at him. Chuckling, he took another bite of his meal and rumbled, “That’s right, I’m here. Knew a soldier named Bismarck. His unit was wiped out and for weeks he asserted he was the Lone Wanderer. Wasn’t pretty, but he got better after a while. Scribes explained it to me when I got curious and asked about it.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself if I tried. And this,” she held the book up, for them both to see, “is very clearly a fantasy story. Escapism. Rather than a weak, beaten and meek slave, he envisions himself as this gallant hero. In shining armor, as he puts it.” 

“Huh.” Preston blinked, seeming to absorb the information while he chewed another bite of his food. “Think ‘Forgemaster’ might be important, too?”

“How do you think?” She had a suspicion, but better to ask than to talk over him.

“He made up a fake identity.” The man shrugged simply, explaining matter of frankly. “He ‘forged’ it, and did it well enough that if anyone thinks like you do, they’re a minority.”

“So he’s a forgery master, yeah, makes sense.” Danse chuckled, rising with a tired groan and a contented sigh. “I’m turning in,” he waved over a shoulder, “lot to do tomorrow. Best to get to bed.”

“He’s right.” Preston sighed, shoveling in the last bite of his food and rising, sliding his coat off and laying it over the arm of the couch. Turning an eye on the door he asked, quietly, “Should we keep a watch?”

“No.” She answered instantly, explaining succinctly for him before he could even ask, “We have what they want, but it isn’t here. Turning on us makes no logical sense, and their friendliness thus far adds onto that. Further, why give us a defensible location and then stab us in the back for no real gain?”

“Yeah, makes no sense.” The man sighed, either convinced by her reasoning or too tired to formulate a proper argument against it. Turning for bed he grunted over his shoulder, “Enjoy the book, General. Fake author name or not, still one of my favorites. Just make sure to get some rest.”

“I will.” She nodded, smiling and settling in, “To both questions.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

She woke up the next morning to Preston’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake gently while he smiled amusedly down at her. Seeing her blink blearily up at him the man smiled, chuckled and offered her a Nuka-Cola, “You fell asleep in your chair, General.”

“A-Ah.” She grunted, taking the bottle and ignoring her stiff, aching joints to ask quietly, “A cold Nuka-Cola? Where’d this come from?”

“The, uh, the slave-minders brought it and our breakfast up from the old city when they came in to start the work shift.” Preston explained, disappearing behind the chair for a moment and then coming back with a plate full of, of all things, eggs, dark colored sausages and fluffy, fresh biscuits. “I already tried some of the soda and the eggs, for poison.”

“I see.” That explained why the seal on the ancient drink had been broken, she supposed. Still, “Thank you, for protecting me, But you shouldn’t test for things like that, Preston.”

“But General they could-”

“Like I said last night, them trying something now makes no sense. They only gain by us being alive, and lose if we die.” She argued, splitting her biscuit and using the sausage to make a sandwich. Taking a bite out of it she explained, loudly enough Danse could hear her, “You saw their reaction to the water I gave them yesterday. Right?”

“They drank it.” The man nodded, “Even said thanks.”

“Right.” She grunted, swallowing her mouthful and giving him a look, a thin smile stretching across her face. “But didn’t you see it, Preston? Or rather, hear it? The respect in their voices, the instant about face on how they were treating us when they tasted that crisp, cool water. They know they need it just like we know they do, so they won’t lay a finger on us.”

“I see your point…”

“Testing for poison is just insulting to them, then, and for no real benefit.” She went on, turning back to her food and spooning a large bite of the oddly salty eggs. To be perfectly clear, though, she added, “I appreciate the thought and the risk, I do. But we need to project confidence right now. Make it clear that in our eyes, we rule this stage. Not any of them.”

“I got it, General.” The man sighed, plopping onto the couch and shooting her a smile to show he understood her meaning. “Good idea, bad time. Our strategy runs counter to it. I got it, don’t stress.”

“Okay.” Distantly, she felt that familiar pang of anxiety and guilt that begged the question of if she’d insulted him, somehow. But after a moment, and a few bites of her food, she chalked it up to her normal anxiety and the early morning, and so moved on, asking, “I take it we’re being allowed to visit the Assembly’s leadership then?”

“We are, yeah.” The man answered, explaining while she ate, “They’re led by a small council of sorts, under their Great Boss. Dunno his name yet, but everyone knows his title. Or, well, titles. Great Boss, High Boss, Great Chief, he has a few that the Minute men knew of. We’ll all be escorted there and you’ll probably be called to talk to the Council and their Boss. They’ll speak to him, advise him, and then he’ll decide what happens next.”

“You convince them, then you have your in.” Danse summarised for them both, wiping his face down with a wet cloth and grimacing. “Not sure if I want you to succeed or fail, really. Kind of an odd feeling.”

“Failing probably means we all die, so…”

“Yeah, I know, Preston.” The man rumbled a laugh, shaking his head slowly as he turned back towards the kitchenette. “Just don’t like Raiders all that much. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Preston sighed quietly, tugging his lightly armored coat around himself and giving her a grimace when her eyes met his. “I’m on board with the plan, General.” He reassured her once again, “Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not worried about that, Preston.” She murmured honestly, taking a sip from her Nuka-Cola and going on, “I’m worried about you, going through with it.”

“I’ll be fine.” He assured her, “I’m a big boy.”

“I know.” She trusted him more than enough to be able to handle this. Still, though, “You don’t have to come with us. I don’t want you to put yourself through something like that when you don’t, strictly speaking, need to. Not when there’s no point in it.”

“General, I…” He sighed, but she didn’t feel any anger at her in it or the grimace that marred his face. Instead, he folded his arms and explained, voice almost eerily calm, “I don’t like what we’re doing, I hate it in fact. I’ve said it before. But I ain’t about to just pretend we aren’t, either. I’m not the ‘bury my head in the sand’ type. I wanna look what we do in the eye, always.”

“As long as you’re sure…” He met her gaze, eyes hard and firm as always, and nodded. So, she returned the gesture and turned back to her food, “Alright then. I won’t push you out if you want in.”

“I know, Gen- Nora.” He smiled, opting for her real name as all the coldness and stiffness suddenly went from his face, his voice and his body language. Relaxing, he stood and took her empty plate, headed towards the kitchen with a final, over his shoulder, “Might wanna stretch a bit before we get goin’, General. I imagine that chair doesn’t sleep well.”

“Yeah.” Her shoulders ached, her arm throbbed enough it drew a hiss from her just adjusting the sling, and her knees were stiff. Aching. 

Standing, she turned in time to see Preston hold out a trio of little, grey pills to her, grunting, “Your meds. I forgot ‘em when I made your plate.”

“Thanks.” She sighed, palming them and brushing by him, towards the kitchenette in the back corner.

A little pig iron tub had been toted into the kitchen while she slept, full of clearish and frigid water. A few tatty rags came with it, but that was all. No sponge, no scrubbers, no toothpaste or brush and certainly no actual soap. Which was disappointing for a moment, until she sighed and shrugged it off. Expecting soap and toothpaste was far beyond what these people were capable of, she knew, and the rag would do the job for now if she scrubbed enough. Her skin and her teeth, that was.

The ice cold water at least complemented the Nuka-Cola, shocking her awake as she scrubbed her shoulders, face and arms.

Running wet hands through her hair to straighten it and, hopefully, help it stay in form for the meeting she turned back to the men, “When do we-” A snicker cut her off, drawn out by the sight of both men with their backs to her nearer the door out, pointedly looking down. 

“They’re shoulders, boys, not tits.” She smiled, laughing and tugging the uniform back on fully, reaching for her coat to do the same. When they only grunted and didn’t turn, she sighed, “I’m decent, children. You can turn around.”

“Sure.” Preston grumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek and giving her a meek look, like he expected her to bite at him or something.

“Ma’am.” Danse, at least, was professional about things. And in that same style he added, quietly, “We have about ten minutes before we’re expected to be ready for our escort into Corvega. With your permission, I’ll get into my armor and tell our guard that we’re almost ready to leave.”

“You don’t need my-” She cut herself off with a sigh, and fought off the urge to shrug and agitate her shoulder. Gingerly working her injured arm into her long officer’s coat, she smiled, “Go ahead, Danse. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” Danse hesitated, though, before pointing out quietly, “You’re in a better mood this morning, General Nora.”

“I am.” In spite of her stiffness and aching shoulder, she felt more relaxed and content than she had in a long, long time. Why was simple enough, “I never thought I’d get to enjoy an evening just… Reading. Not reports, or statistics, or supply manifests, but like- Reading a good story.”

“You enjoy books that much?” She only shrugged and winced for it, earning a chuckle from the Brotherhood soldier as he turned to leave. “I’ll be outside.”

The door closed behind him and Preston turned to her with a roguish, teasing smile, leaning against the side of the couch. Frowning, she gave him a look, “Preston…”

“You know, General,” he rumbled, in spite of the warning laced underneath her words, “I’m sure we can ask ‘round back at Sanctuary and see if anyone knows where we can collect some books for you to read.”

“No.” She answered easily, buttoning up her coat and making sure it was straight on her and looked as good as it possibly could. First impressions and all that, after all. To the point, though, “I won’t waste time and manpower on something pointless while food is a concern for most of us, Preston.”

“You’re the General, Ma’am.” Preston argued gently, “The General of the Minute Men is entitled to a few tiny little luxuries when they don’t hurt anyone.”

“But-”

“All I’m saying is that using a teeny tiny portion of water, later on, to trade for books won’t be the end of the world. Hell, you could call it your wages and spend it how you want.” Preston cut her off simply, smiling at the little sigh she answered with. “Which is… Something we need to sit down n’ sort out, soon enough, actually.”

“When we get back.” She nodded, satisfied that she was presentable and turning for the door. “For now, let’s work on saving the Commonwealth just a little bit.”

Her words were cleverly chosen to seal up the conversation and put her back in control in what even she knew was a manipulative way.

But the man didn’t seem to notice or care, turning to let her pass and grunting a small, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Fed, medicated in her case, and as presentable as they could be, the duo stepped out into the late morning sun gazing down on the chilly, smoky Heap.

Outside, five people were waiting for them patiently in a loose line near the gate. She used ‘people’ to describe them because she couldn’t actually discern what they were, male or female or anything else between the two, in their armor. 

From top to bottom, she couldn’t see a single inch of skin on any of them. Nor any gender defining features. Thick leather boots ran up to, presumably, their knees, splinted by thick, polished metal plating. Above that was a heavy, multi-layered skirt of mail and what looked like leather and cloth layered over one another for protection and warmth. The mail skirt, and presumably the leather and cloth layers, was fitted and held in place by a heavy leather belt covered in circular metal protections.

The polished mail ran up across their bodies, thin leather bandoliers keeping it taught with arrays of knives, tools and canteens attached to them in easy reach of the warriors carrying them. Most of their shoulders and upper chests were obscured by thick leather and capes that trailed along just above the ground behind them. Large, polished pauldrons held the cloaks in placed, polished to a shine and then painted black. Each pauldron bore the gleaming, brass emblem of the Assembly, forged and affixed to the metal rather than painted.

The mail shirt continued on into sleeves under the pauldrons, running to their elbows where heavy leather guards like metal skating pads ended them. Thick, splinted gloves covered the rest, the backs of each palm backed in fine looking mail armor. Each, astoundingly, wore full, plated helmets, almost like the Crusaders of the near-ancient world, with mail coifs spilling out around their shoulders. 

The only real difference that she saw was that instead of the smooth, cross bearing fronts, each sported a mask. A wholly unique mask, too. One sported a chrome sort of harlequin mask, while another wore a grim, frowning and black painted skull for his face. The third was ape like a red, forged in an eternal snarl. The fourth was lupine but calm, like a calm hound resting.

The fifth was the strangest, completely smooth and blue with a simple visor to see through, unlike the eyeholes the others sported.

“General Nora?” The wolf-faced one rasped out in a voice unlike anything she’d ever heard, low, grinding and warped in a strange way she couldn’t place. She nodded and they stepped forward, one hand carrying their reinforced, heavy wooden shield while the other rested on the curved sword on their waist. Offering the hand, they garbled, “I am the Wolf, of the Assembly Foremen.”

“Foremen…?” She murmured, giving Preston a look.

“Your comrade would not know us, General.” Wolf said quietly when he only shrugged unsurely, “We rarely venture from the Factory Fortress. Only when the Council or the Chieftain ask it, which they never do.”

“I see.” Some sort of honor guard then, she guessed. Whether it was purely ceremonial or not didn’t really matter, then. Judging from the minders watching them quietly from around the courtyard she took a breath, stepping forward to clasp the heavily armored hand and smiling gently. “It’s an honor, Wolf.”

“Indeed.” They rasped, stepping back and resting their hand atop the pommel of their curved sword. “Harlequin, Ape, Skull and Blank.”

“A pleasure.” She nodded to each, assuming that their masks matched their names. To Wolf, who she presumed to speak for them if not lead them outright, she asked, “I suppose that you’re to take me to the… Factory-Fortress was it?”

“We are.” They answered, nodding their armored head. Straightening, he stepped back and to the side as Danse trundled by. It seemed a polite gesture, though, rather than one of fear since the warrior ignored him wholly. “The great gift of water you offer has brought attention to you, General. That is why we were sent rather than simple minders, guards or hunters.”

“Oh?” That was a good thing, then. Smiling politely she bowed her head, ignoring the pain the motion brought to her shoulder. “I appreciate the kindness and the attention, Wolf. Truly.”

“As you should be. Come.” The figure growled, turning and nodding at their fellows. At the signal they parted to let the three of them by and then fell in around them. 

A whistle, and the Sentry Bot turned out from its resting place, trundling along slowly behind their marching group.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Still have a massive fever, triple digits often enough since four days ago.

So sorry about the short chapter, but wanted something out.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Blaze :

Define ‘knight’? There are various types of knight and some of them have been shown. The forged wear similar armor as in-game, and that is kind of plate-armor. Whereas the Assembly has been shown wearing braced mail which some knights wore. 

Not challenging you, just curious.

Rayven Nightshade :

Glad to hear it~!

Dark Paladin 89 :

Don’t you worry, them making ration kits like this is in the future. The Brotherhood’s design is meant to make that work easier on me later.

Danse’s opinions will be explored when I can find ways to organically. He’s here because I want to explore them, and make him the layered character Bethesda already partially did. He is, for fact, one of my favorites for how many layers the big tin bastard has.

‘Deathclaw cavalry’…? *whistles innocently*

And yeah, I want most if not all Raider tribes to be interesting and flavorful.

Pokybyte :

Yeah, I really only took the hardiness of the Settler locations, like Diamond City, and applied that to Raiders too. I can understand why Bethesda didn’t, since the game is designed for you to clear them out not get embroiled in them, but still. Is my aim.


	19. Remembrance and Heat

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I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

I’m no longer dying~!

XxX----XxX----XxX

“We’re heading back South?”

“For a time, yes, General.” The Wolf answered, walking beside her in the lead with Blank silent on her other side. Behind them, Danse and Preston walked side by side, the other silent Foremen surrounding them protectively. “The Forged have stepped up their activities North and East of the Assembly, Factory Fortress and Old City alike. Taking you that way would risk you.”

“Ah.” She blinked, “Are you at war, then?”

“They are the Forged.” They answered simply, like that was all that Wolf thought she needed to know. Which, given her limited understanding, might just be the case in their perspective. “We are always at war with them.”

“But you’d normally take us North?”

“We would.” They answered, nodding slightly as they turned their head, silently surveying everything around them as they made their way “We could have passed through the northern gate, straight into the Factory Fortress. Instead, we must head South, and pass through the settlements surrounding the Factory Fortress.”

“And that’s bad.” She guessed, “Right?”

“It is what it is.” Wolf answered simply, shrugging their shoulders, “I would rather have taken you through the proper entrance, but safeguarding our guests comes paramount. Far before pride, in any event.”

“A pretty wise way to look at it.” Nora murmured, wincing as her shoulder throbbed, the way it had been all morning. She ignored it, though, as always. “But you’re not particularly happy about it. Are you?”

“How I feel isn’t all that relevant.” They answered quietly, “Especially so to a stranger, here for diplomacy with my betters. Not with me.”

“I’m just making small talk.” She said simply, shrugging her good shoulder and grimacing as it twinged in the most mild pain. Regardless, she went on, “I’m hoping for good relations with your people, after all. And if the Foremen are half as important as you made them out to be…”

“Then knowing us, you think, is useful.” They surmised, Nora nodding when they turned to look at her. Sighing a ragged, grainy sigh, they turned back to their silent surveying and said, “I suppose that makes sense. Very well, then, no. I am not particularly thrilled to have an important dignitary brought in through our slums and slave quarters.”

“Not having a slave quarters would probably help…” She turned to give Danse a somewhat surprised look and he shrugged, great armored shoulders shifting quietly as he did, “Just a bit of a joke, General.”

“And a poor one.” Harlequin snarked from his side, asking coyly, in their raspy voice, “Or does the Brotherhood not have their prison farms and labor taxes on their water?”

“Those are different.” The Paladin argued quietly, though with no less heat for it. “Prisoners accept work contracts for shorter sentences for their crimes. And the labor tax is mainly just to provide the labor needed to get the water to the farms and settlements. Comparing it to slavery is like comparing Mutfruit to Spider-Roses.”

“Spider Roses?” She asked, if only to pre-empt the argument, and the subsequent problems it would cause. 

“You haven’t seen them…?”

“She doesn’t do a lot of traveling, or at least, she didn’t before joining the Minutemen with me.” Preston stepped in to explain, turning to her with a grimace, “Spider Roses are… Well, it looks like a rose bush or three, depending on the size. The flowers even smell right, I’ve been told by a handful of Pre-War Ghouls.”

“But when you go to sniff them...” Harlequin leaned in to rasp, clapping a hand against her shield, “Boom! A spider bigger than you pops out of the ground, ready for your last dinner date.”

“It’s… A giant spider?”

“It is.” Wolf nodded, almost sounding… Amused at her unconcealed disgust and fear. Nora couldn’t tell, really, from their rasping voice, unfortunately. “They are predominantly a swamp adjacent species, though. You’ll find many further south, and even in the Glowing Sea if you ever visit it.”

“I think I’ll pass…” Though she was sure she wouldn’t be able to forever, General or not. “Are they hard to kill?”

“Not for me they aren’t.” Danse answered quietly, adding when he felt eyes on him, “We have them South of the Sea too. I’ve seen Scribes and light infantry run across them. Nasty pieces of work, those monsters. Against a Knight or Paladin and they’re just a particularly large bug under our boots.”

“Well, we’ll let ya know if we need any pest control, Danse.” Preston said, “I’m sure the Brotherhood does fine work, stomping out ‘roaches and Bloatflys.”

“Gatling lasers do tend to make a fine mess of Radroaches.” The Paladin mused quietly, tapping an armored finger to his equally armored chin as if in thought and earning quiet chuckles from her men.

And, interestingly, from Harlequin, who was the only one in the masked group to laugh.

Which, if the names were tied into their personalities, would make sense. And filled her with questions of why the others had chosen theirs...

“General.” Wolf said before she could dwell on the ideas, though, dragging her gaze back to them as they rounded a corner. “We’re nearing the gate into the slave quarter. You’ll need to stay close, and inside our circle. Slaves are as desperate as they are honorless, and if they see your weapons or cargo, they might think to try something.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t-”

“We’ll stick close.” She said, cutting Preston’s grumbling off and smiling politely. Preston didn’t press the issue and, after a moment, she gave the Foreman a nod. “Please, lead the way.”

Wolf nodded, seemingly unconcerned with her companion’s grumbling, and stepped forward slightly to do just that. They didn’t seem to mind, but the barest risk of confrontation still killed the more jovial mood Nora had managed to foster. For a moment, she considered trying again. Pushing to foster a bright, jovial mood again. A mood that would lead, naturally, into friendly negotiations with apparently important people to vouch for her.

But she knew when a moment was lost, so even as much as she knew how useful it could have been, she let it go.

They continued on through the picked over, barren stretches of broken outer city in silence. The awkward kind too, unfortunately, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it now. She tried to remind herself how much Preston was bending over backwards for her as is, though. And that she shouldn’t, couldn’t, really, get too angry at him for slipping up just the one time.

As long as it stayed the one time, she’d let it go.

They walked for a while in silence, through winding streets she barely recognized, cracked and broken as they were. Still she managed to pick out a few familiar patterns. Not all streets were square, and not all buildings were the same. Few of either had signs, but she’d been to some of them often enough before moving to Sanctuary Hills to recognize them. 

Mama Gorschen’s Wash House, where she’d done her laundry during the water rationing through a drought. She’d died the year Nora got married, but the laundry kept running and she brought her business to it every time. A dozen feet away and across was the half-collapsed skeleton of Mister Burke's, an old antique weapons trader. And, so the rumor went, a hitman for the mob. He’d had a couple sons, she heard amid all the rumors.

But she’d never heard of any real proof about the hitman part.

More shops and businesses like that came and went, and she couldn’t help but stare at each as they passed. And ache, deep in her chest and for once not because of Nate or her damn arm. 

Then, they reached Mister Frenetti’s Pizza Parlor.

Or, what was left of Frenetti’s, at the very least.

It was a large building, three floored and triangular, with a few apartments at the top for Frenetti’s family to stay in. And stay in it they had, up until a year before the Great War. Shortages came and went, but Mister Frenetti’s family kept cooking and serving. Always with a smile, too. Meatless, sometimes cheeseless even during the worst days of the rationing.

But still the best damn pizzas in Boston, from what Nate had told her each and every time they came to it.

“General…?”

“What?” She blinked, standing in the road and staring at the half-collapsed building. Each of the Foremen watched her impassively as she turned, looking at each of them and then, at Preston beside her. Blinking, she asked, anxiously, “W-What’s wrong, Preston?”

“You… Blanked out for a minute there, General.” He explained, paying a glance to the Foremen watching them silently. Looking back to her he laid a hand on her good shoulder and met her eye. Seriously and sternly, he asked, “Are you alright, Nora?”

“Y-Yeah…” She nodded, letting out a shaky breath and then shaking her head, averting her eyes from the building. From the memories - ‘Open wide, honey’ - inside it, seeped into its collapsed walls. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… Lost my head for a moment. I’m sorry.”

“General, are you sure-” Preston stopped, suddenly, as the Foremen began to pace around them. He pulled her behind him and Danse stepped to her other side, shield in front of him and one hand on the grip of his massive sword. Quietly, he demanded, “What are you doing?”

“That wasn’t just Old World Blues.” Wolf murmured as he passed by her side. “You know Frenetti’s, enough for it to hurt.”

“Oh yes, that was pain…” Harlequin laughed, sound low and throaty, “Real pain, not fake. “I’d know.”

“Memories.” Ape grunted quietly as he passed her, “She knows this place…”

“Why?” Wolf said as they stepped back in front of her, and then stepped closer, stopped only by the great sword Danse drew and put in their path. Ignoring it and the silent threat behind it, they asked, almost gently, “You aren’t a Ghoul. But you know this place, don’t you, General?”

“I-I…”

“I know her.” Blank murmured, the first words they’d ever said that she’d heard. They stepped around, past the Wolf, and pressed against the great sword until Danse let them squeeze closer, “From before.”

“Are you certain, Blank?”

“Before what?” Danse rumbled, pushing the armored person back a step along with Wolf. 

“Before the snow.” Blank answered, stepping back and staring at the ground. Wolf laid a hand on their shoulder and pushed them back, into Ape’s open arms. Being guided away, Blank murmured quietly, “Before the snow… Before the snow…”

“You’re Pre-War.” Wolf said it simply, but that was what robbed her of her breath. They said it, like they’d said the Forged were raiding their Northern borders, or that their name was Wolf. 

Like a fact.

“You’re Pre-War, but not a Ghoul.” They rasped quietly, stepping back and looking her up and down. “How?”

“I-I’m not-”

“The Foremen have the Right of Administration, General.” They cut her off, turning a look on Harlequin off to their side. At the look she heard armor shift as hands found pommels and the Wolf went on, “Harlequin, Administrator of the Paths, if I elect to bar this general, will you support my decision?”

“Of course, Wolf.”

“I want to know the truth, General.” Wolf said simply, turning their gaze back on her, “Your words die in our hearts and fall on deaf stone. But if you really are from the Old World, then the Assembly requires knowing it.”

“General…”

“They can’t beat us all.” Preston assured her, Laser Rifle humming in his hands. He leveled it on Wolf but they didn’t flinch, only watching her. Waiting. “Danse alone could probably handle them, and they’re under the robot’s guns.”

“No.” She said simply, laying her good hand on the weapon sword in front of her. She came here for trade, not a fight… “I lived in Sanctuary Hills, before the war.”

“General!”

“It’s fine, Preston.” She assured him, the Foremen relaxing as Preston and Danse did. Taking a breath, and letting it out shakier than she’d taken it in, she began, “I’m going to keep some secrets to myself. Private matters. Understood?”

“Understandable.” Wolf nodded, “Say what you’re willing to. I will press where I feel I need to for whatever I need to.”

“Fine.” She sighed, ignoring the throb in her arm and the steady, building ache in her head. They wanted information and, from what she could tell, information only someone from before the war would know… 

“My husband was military, he fought in Alaska back around Anchorage. I got preg-” She choked on the word, took a breath, sighed, and pressed on, “We had a kid, and the military agreed to transfer him to domestic duties. Handling the riots, ration distribution, those… Those sorts of things.”

“I remember them.” Wolf murmured, “Where did you live?”

“Sanctuary Hills.”

“Where did you wash your laundry?”

“Depended on the week.” She answered, shrugging and wincing as she forgot herself and moved her bad shoulder. Ignoring it, though, she went on, “Good weeks, at the laundromat we passed a ways back. Bad? I filled a tub with water I heated on the stove, or over a fire, and did them by hand. Sometimes, the neighbors would get together and we’d… Make a day of it, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Wolf hummed, “Who was president?”

“President…?” She scoffed, shaking her head, “I don’t know. I stopped paying attention after they suspended the vote for the first time. I know they had a couple, but…”

“You didn’t trust it anymore.” Ape chuckled, “Wise woman. I always thought it kind of funny, how the bastard kept winning.”

“Yeah…” She nodded, ignoring the pain in her neck, “Nate said the same thing, once or twice.”

“Sanctuary Hills had a Vault.” Skull offered quietly from behind her, “But Vaults don’t leave you looking like that.”

“Ours was… Strange.” She answered, shaking her head, “We were let in, processed, and then… And then sealed into pods and frozen.”

“That’s far fetched,” Harlequin laughed, the sound rough, hoarse and broken, “don’t you think?”

“No more than any of you implying you’re two centuries old.” She snapped agitatedly, in pain and irritated for it. Sighing when they didn’t respond, she went on, “I… Woke up, and the first time, my pod didn’t open. I could see Nate and Shaun in the other pod and these… people came, and they… They…”

“They murdered her husband and stole their infant.” Preston offered hotly, stepping between her and the Wolf, behind Danse’s heavy sword. She choked and wheezed at his words and Danse turned to look down on her, surprised by what she’d said, she suspected, but more worried for her than anything else.

For the moment, though who knew how long that would last...

“What did they look like?” Wolf asked quietly, “Raider Tribes? Brotherhood? The Enclave?”

“I don’t even-”

“Black Power Armor.” Danse informed her quietly, turning back to the Raiders around them while the Sentry Bot watched on silently. He explained more for her, sounding ever more tense as he did. Like someone recalling something… Painful. “Black Power Armor, and heavy, energy weapons. Plasma, not Laser, typically.”

“It wasn’t them.” She said quickly, as much to assure him of it as to move on. To be done with this, finally. “They wore… Some kind of hazmat, or environment, suit. Something I’d never seen before. The other was a mercenary, with a large revolver of some kind. Heavy caliber, from the sound and the… Kick when he- When he-”

“You have said enough.” Wolf said quickly, turning to their fellows and asking, “Institute?”

“It sounds like them, yeah.” Harlequin answered quietly, for once sounding… Distinctly less than amused. “Getting into a Vault sounds right up their alley, too. Them and the Enclave, but the General didn’t describe them.”

“You’ve seen the bodies?” Skull asked Preston.

“And the data logs in the Vault, courtesy of our Tinker, Sturges.” The man nodded, giving Nora a look and then hitting the safety of his rifle, letting it cool. “No sign of tampering we could see, the bodies were there, huge round in…” he gave her a look and sighed, “Yeah. I saw it all.” 

“We have to tell the Council…”

“It could mean war.” Wolf warned quietly, shaking their armored head, “The Council and the Chief won’t tolerate the Forged if there’s a chance the Institute is making a play again. We all remember last time. The chaos…”

“It was almost as bad as the Winter.” Harlequin nodded as they slowly came together, those behind her and her men moving around them so the Foremen could speak to each other. “It can’t happen again. We won’t survive it...”

“Not without help.” Nora offered, pushing her feelings, and the pain in her shoulder, down. “We can be that help, if… If we’re done here. If we can go, and we can get this… Get this…”

“General?” She felt a hand on her good shoulder and hissed at the touch, for once, yanking it away. When she looked, he was worried and pained, watching her with his mouth slightly agape, “Nora…?”

“I-I’m sorry.” She sighed, “Headache.”

“Are you ill?” Wolf asked, suddenly filling her vision when she turned to him. She backed away on instinct and Preston got between them, but they were undeterred. “What is wrong? A flu? You spaced out over the pizza parlor, too, and I assumed that was just remembrance. But…”

“Radiation sickness.” She explained quietly, nodding to her arm, “Ghoul got me, and it’s… Set in. I need to get to Diamond City for surgery, and proper treatment.”

“...Skull?”

“She needs tending, and soon.” The Foreman said quietly, pacing, now, behind her. Like they were anxious, “The pain is in her other arm, and I’ve seen her wince just turning her head. I’d say she has a couple days before its too far gone, and her with it.”

“A couple days?” She blinked, “Haylen said I had time to get to Diamond City!”

“Harlequin?”

“Trip’s at least a week if she goes right now.” Harlequin answered, “Probably a week and change. Assuming all goes well.”

“It won’t.” Wolf murmured, knowingly, turning and trotting away, “In the carriage, General. The meeting is postponed until you’ve been tended to properly.”

“But…” She blinked, shaking her head and wincing. The pain at least cleared her head up a bit, if only for very bad reasons. “But I felt fine this morning.”

“Look, General.” Skull started, pointing to their throat when she turned to him, “If it gets in here, you start to have to worry about dying. But you don’t have to worry about feeling it. If you’re feeling fine unless you move, then you’re as far from fine as can be.”

“But-”

“General.” Preston murmured, “They might be right.”

“Preston-”

“And even if they aren’t,” he cut her off, “rest will do you good.”

“I suppose…” And maybe time resting would ease her headache either way. Nodding and wincing for it, she turned and made her way towards the carriage, to ride instead of walk.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The Foremen are supposed to be strange. 

They are very, very old.

And old people get weird enough at sixty, nevermind nigh two hundred and a half centuries.

It’s also a K under norm, but that’s because a lot of this is dialogue to progress the plot.

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Dark Paladin 89 :

Yeah. Making sure that the Post-War world feels unique and fits the theme is one bit of this fic’s puzzle, but making the world feel real is another. As such, I wanted the Post-War peoples to have cultures and countercultures. Movements and politics. I wanted it to feel real.

As odd as that is when giant lizards are roaming around…

Flintlock :

I’m feeling much better. As for resting, I did, but writing is enjoyable to me. So, while resting, I keep writing.

Blaze1992 :

Yeah, I’ll have PA Raiders, don’t worry. And non-Raiders, too. Just wait and see~!


	20. Medicine, But no Sugar

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Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove ( and ) and it SHOULD work : D(i)scord(.)gg(slash)kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“You’re absolutely certain of this course, Director?” The doctor standing behind him asked, nervously scanning the file in his hands. Nervously and needlessly, since he’d made it and seen the Director sign it in person. “I’m happy for the opportunity to test the reparative nanites, of course- More than happy, in fact. But-”

“But interference in an experiment on this scale is not conducive to accurate testing results.” Li added from her own seat at the table, eyes scanning over the incredibly classified briefing folder he’d prepared for them all, “The entire point of this experiment was to see if-”

“We already supplied our experiment with medicine and limited support to prevent random, confounding variables from ending the experiment, and our data supply.” Father cut her off soundly, turning his chair about so that he could meet the gazes of the Heads of his Institute. As always, they fell silent as he spoke, listening to him intently, “Does anyone know how, in spite of our antibiotics and medication, Subject Zero-Zero-One even managed to contract this infection?”

“Bio-Science has nothing.” Doctor Holdren said when is eyes reached him, “Doctor Volker has some hypotheses, but without Zero-Zero-One here to be tested, we can’t be sure enough to pin down an answer.”

“Understandable.” If frustrating. “Advanced Systems?”

“The reparative nanite’s programming is excellent, I oversaw the programming and testing personally, once Bio-Science got them to us.” Doctor Li answered quietly, tapping a cool, blue-labelled file she had brought with her. “Testing done on Gen-3 Synths show a ninety five percent success rate in diagnosing various Wasteland maladies, and an eighty four percent success rate in curing them.”

“Only eighty four?”

“Certain types of aggressive radioactive and mutagenic ailments were… Well, remarkably difficult for the nanites to treat.” Doctor Li explained coolly, tapping the folder once more and then folding her hands on the table beside it. “This shouldn’t be that kind of problem, though.”

“Not yet, at least.” Holdren murmured, “Radioactive diseases like these can turn mutagenic, but there’d be observable signs of it. Scales, a warping of the affected limb, intense, crippling pain- You get the idea.”

“I do.” He nodded, “Our Courser hasn’t observed anything of note?”

“None like that, Father.” Sighed as much as said, voice clipped and cold as it always was. So long as the need and good intentions of the SRB weren’t being questioned, at least. “Our Watchers’ observations haven't generated any data of note either. Aside from a fever, ranging between ninety-nine degrees and a rare one-oh-two.”

“So it’s simply a very bad infection.” He surmised simply, turning a slow, rotating gaze on each of his Heads. When none took the opportunity to argue, he nodded, “Doctor Li, Doctor Holdren, is the dispensation method decided?”

“Yes, Father.” Li odded, setting a small, hand-sized case on the table and opening to show them the host of stark weathered looking but no doubt brand new medical supplies inside. “We have numerous injection plants available. Morphine, a Stim-Pack, a Rad-Away sack- Essentially, everything that any form of treatment those savages envision would require.”

“We deliver these to the Course on station, observing the Subject.” Doctor Ayo explained, “And it infiltrates the Raider stronghold. Once there, it sets several of each of these on top of the medical supplies available to the Raiders’ ‘Foremen’. Odds are high to certain that at least one will be used on the Subject.”

“And once she has been treated, we can remote deactivate the nanintes.” Li added with one of her small, self-satisfied smiles, “Which ensures as little interaction or interference with the Wastelanders as possible.”

“Good.” He nodded, “See it done, then. I refuse to lose such a valuable test subject just because a Courser was too slow to prevent her getting bitten.”

“And if the unit is noticed?”

“It is to terminate any who witness it and discern its nature.” As unlikely a possibility as that was, between its Stealth-Boy and general stealth programming, it still bore mentioning. “If the Subject becomes aware of the Courser it is to withdraw without terminating witnesses. And we are to hold an emergency meeting, to decide our next course of action.”

The assembled Heads nodded and murmured their understanding and, at a wave from him, stood to leave and see to their tasks. Once they were gone he sighed, reclined in his chair, and shook his head.

“You aren’t allowed to die, Mother.” He murmured to naught but the air, “Not until I get my data, at least.”

He could feel the pain in his chest even now, through the pain killers. He didn’t have much time, now…

XxX----XxX----XxX

The gate into the Old City was squat but well-made, especially in contrast to the ruins that surrounded them, and had been built through the center of a wide avenue. The gate itself was large, but simple and familiar, made of bound logs fronted by smooth, black painted metal. A massive white cog, split down the middle, decorated the center of the gate proudly proudly. The gatehouse above it was much the same as her own was, back at Sanctuary, with thick logs supporting a thick roof made of more bound logs topped by sheets of old, thin, rusty and pitted metal that would do little against anything more than a particularly large rock.

It offered the handful of armed and armored Raiders watching the good cover from the sun and, ostensibly, the rain, though.

The wall itself was fronted by the old, rusted steel that thus far seemed to be a hallmark of Commonwealth design decisions. She’d already been told that the reason for the metal fronting was to make scaling the walls harder to do quietly, or at all, and was the cheapest option for it thanks to the abundance of easily accessible metal scattered across the breadth Commonwealth.

Unlike Fort Sanctuary, where they’d opted for smoothed down scrap metal collected from Sanctuary itself, the metal here wasn’t scrap. It was smooth and well-made, machined with evident care and precision with an almost artful, gentle pattern of indentations between the spots where the metal panels had been fitted to the supports that attached them to the concrete brickwork of the walls behind them. In the center of each, where the curve inwards was its deepest, the symbol of the Assembly had been emblazoned in bright paint.

The walls were old and had weathered their share of misery, pitted by laser blasts and even bullet holes, and scarred by tears of sizes ranging from barely a hand’s width to large scares cutting from top to bottom. All of them had been cleaned up, though. The ragged edges smoothed out, and then repainted to match as close to exactly as feasibly possible.

“It will be a moment before Minders come to clear our path.” Wolf explained after Harlequin had slipped through the gate to handle the matter themself. 

“Alright.” Nora hummed, sitting on the floor of the cargo section of the carriage and looking at the wall, “This stretches around the entire Assembly?”

“For the most part.” Wolf nodded, standing in front of her with the other Foremen on the other side of the Vertibird, watching the way they’d come warily alongside Preston and Danse. “The wall runs into the foundation of the old factory and stops. The fortress itself defends the space between, so a wall isn’t really necessary.”

“I could see it…” Except she wouldn’t, she figured, since they wouldn’t go near it and she doubted she’d have reason to go out on the battlements. Taking a sip of her whiskey and wincing as she swallowed, she sighed, “You’re sure you can… Deal with this?”

“You won’t enjoy it.” Wolf said quietly, turning to eye her slung arm through their masked helmet, “But yes, we can. We have done so before, for infections progressed to the point that the limb itself began to rot away.”

“Oh.” She blinked, and then swallowed anxiously, “W-Well, I hope that isn’t in my future…”

“It ought not be.” Wolf assured her quietly, sparing her the smallest of glances before turning back to the wall, “Skull can tend you, don’t fret. Those that lose their arms come to those that treat their infection on their backs, carried, unconscious and groaning, by their comrades. You were on your feet not an hour ago.”

“Alright, then.” She nodded and winced again as she did, growling, “This is starting to get annoying, though…”

“The pain?” She hummed an answer and, after a moment’s hesitation, Wolf reached under their armored skirt, drawing out a fist-sized pouch. Digging into it they produced a shriveled up little mushroom and held it out to her. She hesitated and the Foreman explained, quietly, “Medicinal. For the pain. I keep some of them on me at all times.”

“In your…” She raised an eyebrow, “Skirt?”

“Just above my knees.” They nodded, chuckling dryly, “The pouch is cinched tight, and I have trousers on under the skirt.”

“Why do you keep mushrooms on you?” She asked, taking the little thing from the Foreman and inspecting it. It was little and hard, shriveled up with a white stem and a bright red cap that normally she’d have expected warned of poison.

“For pain.” They answered simply, tucking the pouch away and straightening, turning to her with a shrug. “They grow in the forests just outside our territories. We trade for them, dry and mince them, and use them for medicine and recreation.”

“So… Drugs?”

“Your sensibilities or your comfort.” They answered simply, chuckling when she waved them off and looked at it again. Seeing her hesitance, they explained and, gently, urged, “Stick it between your teeth and your cheek and chew it gently. Suck on it, too. Lay down in the back, close your eyes, and it will help. I swear it.”

“Alright.” She sighed, easing back and finding a place to lay down between the crates and the door. It was uncomfortable, and a bit tight, but it was bearable. 

Slowly, she stuck the dried out mushroom in her mouth and closed her eyes. It was spicy, was the first, odd thing she noticed about it. Spicy and fibrous, with a heady taste like those cinnamon candies Nate had been so fond of, before the war. After a few seconds, she felt her mouth begin to tingle oddly, like she’d eaten peppermint. Or drank a Nuka-Cola after brushing her teeth, while the fluoride was still fresh in her mouth.

It was strange, though not unpleasant.

Then, in the span of a breath, she felt the ache in her shoulder begin to dull slowly. Then the pain in her feet, and her head, too. She sighed, sheltering her face against the light with her good arm, and heard Wolf chuckle and draw the door closed on her.

“So,” she murmured around the mushroom, “hopefully this isn’t poisonous.”

Wolf didn’t have any reason to poison her, though, and she knew that. Besides, why would Wolf be carrying a dried mushroom in a pouch like that if it was poisonous? If they wanted to kill people they had an army, and armor and weapons besides. Just stabbing her would do the job just as well as poison, now. 

So why bother?

After a few minutes of relaxing in the cool dark of the carriage she heard a mighty groan, like when Fort Sanctuary’s gates swung open except a lot larger and heavier. Then she heard a shout and the carriage lurched under her as they trundled forward, into the Old City. Idly, she considered sitting up, so she could look at the Old City’s slums as they passed through them. The information would no doubt be useful, one way or another.

But with a sigh, she let her eyes closed again and didn’t bother.

For now, she just wanted to relax…

So, rolling onto her good side and letting out a contented sigh, she did just that.

She couldn’t see but that didn’t stop her hearing the city as they passed through it. At first it was quiet but soon, that gave way to loud chattering, indistinct animal noises, and the sound of metal banging against metal, stone and wood. The sound of workers, she knew from her time at Fort Sanctuary, surrounded by the very same sorts of sounds. 

Rolling back onto her back she looked up, through the door’s window. They were passing by the skyscrapers that had made up the city, before the war. Most were broken topped, bare scaffolding spindling into the sky stories dozens of stories up. Where they were close enough, wood and steel bridges spanned between them, cloth tops hung over them like roofs. Beneath that, though, they were whole or repaired. Splotches of mismatched stone-work and concrete plugged places where holes had been, some fronted by the same black painted metal as the wall outside, along with the symbol of the Assembly.

Even forcibly relaxed as she was, the sheer scale of it all had her eyes widening.

Suddenly, a shadow blocked out her view, Danse peering in through the window at her. Smiling widely, she waved a hand and mouthed, “Hey.”

He shook his great, armored head amusedly and vanished out of view, behind the armored door. Preston’s replaced it after a second, eyebrows raised in worry and question. She gave him the same small smile and wave, mouthing that she was fine and just resting. He grimaced but nodded and then he, too, vanished behind the armored metal of the door.

Preston was a worrier, but he was a good bean nonetheless.

After a while, the more rough, rugged road made up of the barely repaired old roads that crossed the city gave way to something smoother. Or at least more the bumpiness evened out into something more regular, without the worst of the jostlin that the ancient, broken asphalt had. Instead, she recognized it from her old days pursuing her degree, back when the wars had been comfortably off-continent and the rationing had been closer to nil.

Cobbled stone.

That realization had her up and moving, dragging herself through the cargo hold with her good hand more for the moving of the cart than anything. She climbed into one of the old, refurbished pilot’s seats to watch the world trundle by and was greeted by Paladin Danse, taking up their rear as they made their way.

“General.” He nodded in greeting, “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She grunted around the much reduced mushroom, chewing it idly as they passed by. “You?”

“I’m fine.” He chuckled, “My armor has a heater, so I’m nice and warm in here.”

Left unsaid was that the slaves they’d passed by to get here didn’t, and that it was about only in the forties right now. Once winter really hit, with all its fierce frigidity, she supposed that things would look a lot more stark in the Old City.

For now, though, they were in a nicer part of the Old City, where the old storefronts and skyscrapers had been torn down - or collapsed - outright. In their place stood neatly ordered buildings made out of thick slabs of dark grey stone brickwork that looked like old, well weathered concrete, broken into bricks ranging from man-sized to fist and then mortared into place. 

Many of the designs ended with that, dull grey slabs of old, repurposed painted into various shades of white, grey, black or even blue making up structures three or four stories tall. A few ranged taller, with wooden supports marking out each floor reinforced by iron riveting. Or, in one case, the tallest, with black metal reinforcements and thick, iron cross barring enclosing the stone of the entire structure like a blend of Old World military reinforcements and New World stonework.

They passed housing with well-dressed men and women, wearing furs, leather and what looked like cloth and linen, meandering about, talking and going about their day. She saw most watching them as they trundled by, turning to talk animatedly amongst themselves once she and her escort were far enough off.

None noticed the slaves, though, from the shoddily clothed ones clearing trash or working on the buildings to the more well-dressed ones following their masters around. The latter she could barely distinguish from their owners, some even smiling and talking quietly with them as they trailed behind them. At least, so long as she ignored the silver cuffs and the collar they all wore.

That was an obvious signifier if she’d ever seen one.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” She looked down to find Danse watching her quietly, “What we’ve managed to do since... Er, your time.”

“It is.” She nodded, for once not feeling the aching twinge from her neck. She rubbed it sympathetically and grimaced, “Not crazy about the methods, though…”

“Cold feet?”

“No.” Yes, but it was far too late now, and in the long run she’d only be able to help these people. Giving him a smirk she asked, “You?”

“My armor has a heater, General.” He reiterated with a wry, quiet chuckle, looking past the carriage and adding. “We’re approaching the fortress now.”

“Thanks.” She sighed, chewing up the last of the mushroom and swallowing it as she stood and turned, clambering through the carriage again. She pulled the door open and was met by Wolf, with Preston oddly at their side, walking beside the carriage.

“General.” They both grunted, nodding politely. They both paused and turned a look on one another, Preston grimacing like he’d eaten something sour, before Wolf turned back to her and asked, “How are you feeling? Did the mushroom help?”

“Yeah, actually.” She nodded, sitting on the edge of the carriage and letting her feet drag on the ground beneath her. ”Cobblestone roads?”

“We’re out of the slums.” They answered simply, “This is where the warriors and their families live, if they don’t wish to quarter within the Factory Fortress. Warehouses, care facilities, hostels for traders to stay at… Many things that are very necessary simply can’t fit inside the Factory Fortress, General.”

“I figured.” She remembered the size of the factory, after all, and as spacious as it could be made to be, it was still limited. Looking around at the other assembled Foremen walking in neat formation beside the transport, she asked, “Where are Blank and Harlequin?”

“Blank went ahead with Harlequin.” Wolf explained, “To let our leadership know that the meeting has been delayed, and why. Blank also wanted to rest, their head was aching after… Remembering so much.”

Wolf left it at that and, out of respect and wariness both, Nora did too. A few minutes later Preston called for the robot to stop and she stepped off and turned, looking up at the Factory Fortress.

And fortress it certainly was.

The Corvega Assembly itself had been built into an incline, on top of a huge concrete foundation she knew was spider-webbed by pipes and access tunnels. She didn’t know what it's bowles looked like now, and sincerely hoped to never find out given where dungeons and prisons historically were, but the foundation remained. A wall just like the one outside stretched out from the foundation to divide the fortress from the city itself, with a similarly heavy gate open and waiting for them.

But beyond the old foundation she could still see, nothing of the old factory remained visible or, seemingly, even standing for the most part. 

Instead it was like someone had taken a medieval castle and plucked it from the pages of a history book, and then plonked it down on top of the factory. Four great towers rose ten floors tall, one on each corner of the foundations, each topped by wooden shelters to cover them and a tall banner with the Assembly’s sigil stitched into the front. Every surface of the towers was made of stone, reinforced with wood and metal cross-beams and riveting to support them and, no doubt, more of the same inside.

Another of the metal-fronted stone walls ringed between them at half the tower’s height. These were covered too, with the wood and metal roofing that seemed common-place for these kinds of fortifications, and walked by dozens of Raiders that she could see. Behind the walls, where the factory had spindled high into the sky, a stone hall stood, nearly as tall as the great watchtowers. From its center a final tower spanned into the sky, flaring out at the top with metal reinforced buttresses supporting it.

On that seemed to be a square building, ringed by a balcony from which draped even more, somewhat ragged, banners of the Assembly.

“Impressed?” Wolf asked from beside her, chuckling when Nora only nodded, “The factory itself, over time, has been replaced almost entirely. But the tools and power supplies are both intact.”

“How, though?”

“Tinkers, and a lot of them, working for years.” They answered simply, “I don’t know the specifics. It isn’t my duty to, you understand.”

“Reasonable.” And disappointing, she didn’t say. Instead she asked, “What now?”

“You follow me.” They answered, turning to Preston and adding, “You two will be shown to quarters inside the Factory Fortress. Your carriage and supplies will also be shown a place to stay, and placed under heavy guard to prevent theft. Presuming you trust us.”

“I’ll stay with the goods.” Preston grunted simply, taking a seat on the edge of the cargo hold and easing back onto it. Smirking, he added, “Assuming you don’t have a problem with me keeping an eye on our stuff myself?”

“None at all.” Wolf shrugged, turning to Ape and nodding towards the citadel, “Show them the way, my friend. Skull and I will tend to our companion here.”

They passed through the gate together, but separated there. Wolf and Skull lead her left, while the rest of their party turned right, vanishing around the far corner and up the hill beside Corvega, towards the span of the wall she could see a couple hundred feet away. Nora followed her own guides left, passing under a section of wall that curved up, over the old ramp that had let trucks in and out to ferry supplies out of the factory in the old days.

Inside, the image of ‘medieval castle’ held just as true as it had from the outside. Raiders drilled in spaces set aside for the purpose, numerous sheds had been set up where smiths repaired and fitted equipment to waiting Raiders, and guards stood posted all around the wide, open courtyard. There were even horses hauling goods to and fro on carts.

They had scaly patches on their shoulders and the backs of their hips, were uniformly a sort of grey, and had horns, but they were horses.

The stables, sheds, warehouses, food stores, and everything else filled the wide courtyard like a second, smaller city. A microcosm of the one they’d passed through, with the same reinforced, repurposed concrete architecture and styles of the city, spaced out in military fashion. And then muddled by the organic nature of people moving in to fill duties as they were needed.

If being outside had been like looking at a medieval world set in front of her, now, it was like she was walking through it.

And good god if she could barely contain the smile at the experience.

Quietly, her two remaining guides lead her through it all, across the courtyard and around the side of the great hall that dominated the fortress’ center. They brought her to the back left tower, the guards pounding their fists over their hearts and then pulling open the door for them. Inside was a great room, full of bunks, storage areas and a place to eat and relax. There were only a few there, relaxing in the eating area and talking quietly, but they watched them as they passed through.

Then, for several minutes, her life was spent muttering curses about stairs.

Because of course they’d have to climb nearly to the top of the damn tower…

On the final floor before the top they paused on a landing while Skull fished out a set of heavy, iron keys. Inside was a wide, circular room ringed by medical beds and lit by bright fluorescents that ringed the room and then spindled in, towards a huge support column. Around that was storage, from lockers to crates and everything in between, and a couple of stone and wood desks.

“Wolf, go and find my assistant.” Skull grunted simply, walking to one of the beds and looking her in the eye, pointing at the bed. “Top off. Sit.”

“Great bed-side manner…”

“Apologies.” Skull grunted shortly, amending, “Sit down, top off, please.”

Rolling her eyes she did as he asked her to, stripping down to her old, loose undershirt and grimacing as the Raider bundled her things up and tossed them onto the floor by the head of the bed. 

Then the Raider nodded and dragged a chair over to her, sitting down and undoing her sling. Thus began fifteen minutes of the Raider pulling her arm this way and that, turning it over in his hands until she groaned, prodding it until she hissed and generally inspecting it in the single most uncomfortable way possible she could imagine. Then, finally, he lifted her arm, inspecting her pit and then her ribs for whatever signs of infection before grabbing her head and doing the same.

It was aggravating, and whatever the mushroom had done to treat her for the pain, it had flared back with a vengeance by the time he was finished.

“Infection is in your arm and upper chest. As expected. Treatable.” Skull grumbled, standing as heavy steps rumbled gently towards her. Looking to the newcomer, the Foreman grunted, “Radiation infection. Two Stim-Packs, one Med-X injector, a Rad-Away drip system and two Fungal Purges.”

“Fungal Purges…?”

“Medicine.” Skull grunted as those same heavy foot-steps trundled away, towards the center of the room. Neither she nor Skull paid them any mind, though, the Raider grunting quietly, “Lay down.”

“Alright…” She sighed and reclined on the bed, her head resting on cool, cloth pillows she was already planning on trying to get some of to take home.

That was when she finally saw the owner of the heavy, rumbling foot-steps and had to bite her cheek not to shout in alarm.

It was massive, standing a couple feet taller than anyone she’d ever met and with biceps and thighs thicker than her head. Its eyes were small and beady, hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, of all things, that stretched to rest on over-sized and somewhat lopsided ears. It wore thick, leather trousers and a thick leather shirt, with a simple white apron over its front full of miscellaneous doctor’s supplies.

And, of course, it had the same cilver collar and cuffs that the slaves outside had.

“Don’t be afraid.” The giant rumbled with a strange, surely impossible, voice that was far softer than it should have had. Setting the medical supplies by her feet the giant spread its too-large hands wide and smiled, though it kept its lips closed to hide its teeth. “I’m a doctor. I won’t hurt you, Miss.”

She turned a slow, apprehensive look on Skull, who sat by the head of her bed patiently, and the Foreman explained, “Uncle Leo is a Super Mutant. You’ve not seen one before?”

“N-No.” She’d seen plenty of other mutants, not not a Super Mutant. Licking her lips she forced herself to take a breath and relaxed, forcing a smile, “If you say to trust him then I will. So, what’s the treatment plan?”

“Med-X for pain, and a Rad-Away drip for overnight treatment.” Skull explained, looking at the massive creature and giving a nod. At that Uncle Leo moved, setting up an IV stand and hanging a bag of fluids and the Rad-Away from it before going to work on her injured arm. She hissed and yanked her arm away, cradling it against her chest, and Skull chided, “Radioactive infection in her arm. Patient is very sore and tender to touch and other stimuli, up through her shoulder.”

Not that that had stopped him prodding at her before… 

“Apologies, Ma’am, he should have told me you were in pain and sensitive before I touched you..” He held out a hand and smiled gently, like a doctor would. Albeit a giant green one, “I didn’t know, I'll be more gentle.”

Grimacing, she offered her arm back to him and, surprisingly, he was so gentle that the needle going into her arm was the most painful part of the experience. On her other side, Skull produced the Med-X, injecting her other arm with it and then one of the two old looking Stim-Packs. Setting each aside on the small tray, he picked up what looked like a beer bottle full of something that was mostly liquid, filled with little chunks.

“Fungal Purge.” Skull explained, uncapping it and holding it out to her, “It will hurt, a lot. And tear your stomach up-”

“I’m sorry, it will what?”

“It’s what the Stim-Pack is for.” Uncle Leo explained as she felt the strange, cool rush of the IV and the Rad-Away start flowing into her arm. Kneeling beside her bed, he explained, “The Purge is made from a mushroom that emerged after the bombs fell. It leeches radiation out of a body by force and, coupled with Rad-Away treatments like this, I’ve seen it cure even near-lethal doses of direct radiation. Tonight will be a bad one, but…”

“Tomorrow, you’ll be clear of infection.” Skull finished, “It’s a treatment used frequently by the Assembly. And a guarded secret.”

“And it works…?”

“Every single time.” Skull nodded, “Used it for two hundred years. Not once has it failed to work. And it’s only lethal if taken on its own, without proper secondary treatment.”

“Which you’re having.” Uncle Leo added, smiling, “Just drink it and try to rest. The sooner you start, the sooner it’ll be done.”

Sighing she took the bottle and stared at it for a moment, working up the nerve. Finally, she pressed the bottle to her lips and threw her head back, chugging the drink as fast as she could. It was sloshy, like a slurry, and disgustingly sweet when it hit her tongue. But in its trail it left the same cinnamon tingle and blooming numbness that the mushroom Wolf had given her had done.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Shr murmured, handing the bottle back to the Raider and raising an eyebrow. “I thought it was going to hurt?”

“It will.” Skull nodded, standing and stepping back and away at the same time Uncle Leo laid a hand on her chest, covering it entirely while his other dragged a blanket up her.

Then, she felt her stomach churn and burn, like she’d swallowed molten metal. She screamed and gagged, instinctively trying to throw up, but nothing came. It was like the Purge refused to, settling in her stomach like it had found a new home and refused to budge. She didn’t cry out, though, bitin git back like when she’d had Shaun, pressing her head into the pillow and heaving a breath. 

For a heartbeat that was it, and all she was was the burning pain in her stomach. Then, she coughed, and felt it worsen into an inferno that blossomed across every inch of her. Her arm was the worst, scorching white hot and spasming until Leo shifted, one hand on her chest and the other holding her arm still. 

Then, finally, she screamed.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Not a lot of dialogue in this one, but I fuckin’ bet you can bet why. Hope you enjoyed!

XxX----XxX----XxX

Misdirection :

It’s a bit of that, and a bit of giving a shit about your fellow Pre-Wars. Glad you enjoyed it though!

Blaze 1992 :

Because you looked at my author name? Lol.

Nick (Guest) :

The world is already abundantly filled with it but, like… I can’t not. I’m like a kid in a candy store when it comes to needless world building and additions.

Dark Paladin 89 :

I would argue this is ‘different’ not ‘better’. Fallout 4 already has much going on in it. I’m realistically adding very little, aside from some in-universe and more overt Raider characterization. Glad you enjoy the story, though!


	21. A Change of Face

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If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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XxX----XxX----XxX

The first part of her night passed in a blur of utter agony, every heartbeat sending thrums of heat through veins that felt like they were full of white hote, molten metal. Every breath was agony, and the pressure Uncle Leo used to hold her down may as well have been torture. She bit her tongue and tasted blood, at one point, before Skull loomed over her, shoving a gag into her mouth to prevent a repeat.

At some point, though, she finally thankfully lost consciousness, slipping into absolutely insane fever dreams. Dreams of philosophy debates between her, Nate and a Deathclaw. Of a clone army of nothing but her, told to build a fortress but too busy quarreling about resource allocation and scavenging duties to get any work done. And then another, of when she’d given birth, except the doctors were all Ghouls, hissing and chittering as they delicately handled the procedure and then handed her her baby.

A bright green baby, the size of her own chest, but her baby regardless.

Finally, groaning, she woke up to the feeling of a wet cloth on her chest, gently scrubbing between and under her breasts. 

Too drained to be angry, she blinked awake, looking up at the green giant and asking, “Why’m naked?”

“You had a remarkable fever all through the night, which worked up quite a sweat.” Uncle Leo answered quietly, gently scrubbing down along her stomach and along her hips. Then, lower, as the mutant went on, “The way the treatment works, the radiation is absorbed and then forcibly excreted via essentially every liquid avenue. Blood, if you bleed, tears, saliva and, most pertinently here, sweat. It’s radioactive, though, so it must be removed promptly.”

“Sorry ‘m gross.” She slurred, head too fuzzy to care about the propriety.

“Please,” Uncle Leo turned a smile on her, working his warm, wet rag along her thigh gently, “I’m a doctor, madame. This is nothing compared to tending to a mother giving birth, or a wounded Raider with a bolt in his innards, let me tell you.”

She only grunted a reply, throat too dry and head too fuzzy to muster a more proper response.

Once her sponge bath was done, the Super Mutant exchanged the soft sponge for a rougher towel to gently dry her off, and then helped her into a set of clean clothes. They were stiff clothes, made of leather with thicker layers over her chest, shins and forearms, but inside they were lined by a soft fur of some kind, pressed down fur that kept her warm but wasn’t rough or uncomfortable.

What it was from, she had no idea.

So, she did the obvious thing and asked.

“It’s from a Mega-Lamb.” Uncle Leo answered her, holding her right arm in his giant hands and gently squeezing along the bicep, tricep and shoulder. “They are rather like the kind of lamb you would imagine, except that their wool grows ludicrously fast. A lot of the wool isn’t fit to wear, too rough on the skin, but even that makes for good padding on armor and shields.”

“I imagine they eat a lot, then…” Like her words had reminded it, her stomach rumbled angrily and she grimaced. “S-Sorry.”

“Perish the thought, your body is as it is.” He smiled, teeth crooked and over-large, enough she was sure he could rip her jugular out with them. She ignored her instincts, though, and listened, “As for the Mega-Lamb… Well, yes, it eats a lot. But they aren’t herbivores, at least not just herbivores. They’re lithovores, too.”

“Litho-” She blinked, “They eat rocks?”

“Rock, dirt, metal, the like.” The Super Mutant nodded, moving down her arm to continue his probing squeezes, and waiting for her to cry out. When she didn’t, he went on, quietly, “Rock and dirt are everywhere, and they can eat the unsalvageable concrete, too. Even glass, if you break it up enough. And we feed them any iron or steel that’s not pure enough to salvage for use, too.”

“Efficient.”

“Mhm.” The Mutant looked up and around them waarily and then whispered to her, “I would suggest trying to procure one. They’re rare in the wild and in captivity both, which normally means they are not for sale. But with the water you have on the line… One or two could easily be a part of the bargain.”

“They would be useful.” Not just for the clothing, either, but for a way to dispense with their more useless garbage. Even today, there was waste that needed done away with. Scrap and broken materials that even they couldn’t repurpose or reuse. But… “Why would you suggest it, though?”

“A better question.” He mused, smiling that toothy grin again, “Why not?”

“You don’t need to.” She answered simply as the Super Mutant stood and paused, raising one misshapen, questioning brow at her. “You don’t get anything out of helping me. And if the Assembly knew you had, you’d stand to lose a lot, too.”

“I recognized your uniform, when you came in.” He answered quietly, “I know what group you represent. I know not why you are here, engaging with these people, now. But you do so in peace, and no doubt for a noble end.”

“I do.” She nodded, though she didn’t dare to explain what that end was. Instead, she asked, “So, what? You have faith in me?”

“Yes, in fact, I do.” He nodded, lumbering towards the column that supported the room, and the desks and supplies there. He took a moment to take notes on a pad of paper there before picking up a lidded wooden bowl and returning to her, sitting down and uncovering what smelled like potatoes and beef. Handing it to her he said, quietly, “Eat it slowly, General. It is hot and you are weak right now.”

“Alright.” She nodded, setting the bowl in her lap and enjoying the warmth of it, spreading through her. Quietly, as she spooned up a bite of the meal, she asked, “Why would you put your faith in total strangers?”

“A good question.” He nodded, “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“You took drugs offered by strangers.” Uncle Leo explained bluntly, “Even as they caused agony in you, you pushed through it, trusting us. Trusting complete and total strangers. Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because… I didn’t have a reason not to.” She shrugged and froze, expecting utter agony as always and then smiling disbelievingly when nothing came. Lifting her arm she found she could twist and turn it without a hint of pain. “It feels like new… Better than new, in fact. It feels great, what was in that?”

“Nothing.” The Super Mutant answered quietly, “Your arm should be a bit stiff, but free of pain and impediment.”

“Well, it feels as good as new.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulder testingly, smiling at how easy moving it came. “Maybe I just bounced back a bit better than normal.”

“It’s a side-effect of the treatment.” Uncle Leo rumbled quietly, watching her arm move with narrow, suspicious eyes. After a while he hummed in thought, “Perhaps you… Have suffered a minor mutation, that, in tandem with the treatment, has strengthened your arm.”

“I what?”

“Please, wait here a moment, General.” The Super Mutant grunted, rising and trundling off quickly, his heavy feet sending gentle tremors through the beds around him as he moved to and out of the door. 

She blinked her surprise, sighed, and then turned to her food, “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another…”

The Super Mutant returned a couple minutes later, carrying a small, dark red ball of some sort. It looked small, in his hands at least, but was easily half the size of her head. A weird swirling pattern of silver had been inscribed on the surface of it, contoured slightly as if to highly how a person should grip it.

Taking a seat in the chair next to her he explained, quietly, “It’s a lead weight used in strength training. And, well, a projectile for one of our weapons. A large one, like a sling combined with a ballista.”

“Ah.” She could imagine a lead ball like that would hurt if it hit someone, to say the very least. Instead of asking about that though, and filing the idea of the weapon away for later, she asked, “I’m assuming its here for the first reason, not the second.”

“What gave it away?”

“The lack of an artillery piece.” She smiled, “You’re big, I’ll admit, but I doubt you could hide something that big behind you.”

“Well, you’re quite right.” He said simply, holding the ball out in a hand and then setting it on the bed beside her hip. It was heavy enough she felt the mattress indent under her a bit, the lead ball resting against her hip. Quietly, he asked, “I would like you to try and lift that with your right arm.”

“Just my right arm…?”

“At first.” He nodded, adding, “If you feel like you can, though, then use both hands. But try with the one, first.”

Grimacing, she nodded and wrapped the fingers of her formerly bad hand around the ball. It only enclosed half of it, the ball way too wide for her fingers to enclose around it. Frowning, she did her best to pick it up, forced to turn her hand and get it under it to stop the ball from getting away from her. It was heavy, she could easily see why it would be used as a projectile and could already imagine what one of these would do to a Minute Man formation, from what she’d been told about them.

But, arm trembling from the effort, she managed to just get the little ball a few inches up and off the bed before her grip started to fail. Uncle Leo was swift, though, his own massive hands sliding under her forearm and hand, and the ball as well, of course, to stop her from dropping it.

“So,” she smiled, “how’d I do?”

“Do you know how much these weigh, General?” She shook her head and, frowning, the Super Mutant took the ball from her and then gingerly sat it down on the ground between his feet. “Around ten pounds or so. Far more than someone coming off the injury and treatment you are coming off of to handle.”

“Ah.” She grimaced, shaking her hand gently to get the gentle ache out of it, from holding the ball. “That’s, uh, not good right?”

“On the contrary, it’s splendid news, General Nora.” He smiled warmly, adding, “So long as you don’t mind that it’s likely a mutation brought about as a consequence of the radiation infection, you should take this as good news. Presuming that you actually are recovering, and weaker as a result, your right arm should be even stronger than before.”

“Oh.” She blinked, looking down at the palm of a hand that had, until that moment, been nothing but a liability. And now… “Well, that is a bit of ironic whiplash.”

“I imagine.” Uncle Leo murmured, hefting the ball again and, once more, laying it beside her, this time on her other side. “Please, try and do the same with your other hand, now. Let us see if it is isolated.”

Remembering how heavy the ball had been in her other hand she took a breath, and lifted as hard as she could-

And watched the lead ball sail up, out of her fingers and beyond the foot of her bed, cracking into the stone floor a foot from the end of the cot. She blinked, for a moment, before slowly turning a look on the Mutant beside her. He sighed, gave her a smile, and stood, sauntering to the foot of the bed and kneeling to wrench the lead ball out of the floor.

“So,” he chuckled, “you are a Mutant, too.”

“I-I guess so.” She murmured, “That’s the most reasonable assumption at least, right?”

“Yes it is.” Then he paid her a little look, and asked, “How does that make you feel, though?”

“I don’t…” She also almost said she didn’t want to be some kind of freak, before she realized who - and what - she was talking to. Instead she settled on, “I’m fine, I guess. I’m not thrilled that my body is out of my control, but… I mean, I can’t do anything about it, now can I?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She heard stone crack and the Mutant chuckled, standing and paying her a nod, “I should see this returned to its home, and get Skull for you. That one can see the meeting you came for arranged.”

“Are you…” She blinked and grimaced, hugging her suddenly very alien feeling arms around herself tightly. “Are you going to tell him about my mutation?”

“Do you want me to?”

“...Yes.” She nodded, “I’m not used to it, and don’t want to hurt someone. And you’d know how to put it better than I would.”

“I’ll let him know.” He nodded, turning to leave and adding a parting, “Luck to you, with your meeting and your new mutation alike, General. You may find you need it.”

Which he meant, she didn’t know for sure. And he was gone before she could ask him about it, too.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Father’s typical morning musings were cut off by the sound of his door chime, telling him someone was calling on him. Taking a long draught of his coffee, blessedly one of the first comfort crops that the early Institute had sequenced and begun growing, he stood and stepped in front of his mirror, to check his uniform and beard for any flaws in need of correcting. Running a brush through it for safety he nodded and moved for the door.

Instead of one of his department Heads or a Synth, both of which were normal, a wiry young technician was waiting for him. She was thin, with hunched shoulders, mousy hair and the plain white lab-coat of those still interning in the various departments, searching for their calling. She clutched a folder anxiously, shuffling where she stood before offering him a small, nervous smile.

“G-Good morning, Father.” She smiled, nodding her head, and offering him the thin folder, “Doctor Rosen was supposed to bring these to you, but something came up. So he asked me to do it.”

“Ah.” He smiled, taking the folder and tucking it under an arm. SRB colors were splashed over it and, eyebrows raised, he asked, “Do you know what it’s about, Miss…?”

“Miss Anais.” She answered politely, “And, um, he said it had something to do with an SRB project. Something classified, your eyes only. Even he couldn’t look into it, beyond what he put in the folder, he said.”

“So you did as you were told, in a manner befitting any and every member of the Institute.” He smiled brightly, watching her eyes widen ever so slightly and her cheeks flush, the professional praise rushing right to her head and heart. Paying her another nod, he said, “I’ll see to these reports. Tell Doctor Rosen to pass my appreciation to the rest of the SRB team on this project, if you would.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Miss Anais?” He smiled wider, “I look forward to seeing where your career takes such a promising young doctor as you.”

She stammered her thanks and rushed off, cheeks aflame. He wasn’t lying, either, she was a very promising young woman for the SRB’s interests. Her skills in unit allocation, survey coordination and Synth behavioral anomaly noticing were not to be ignored. Even if she did seem a bit too gentle of demeanor to work well with the SRB’s less empathetic fields, she could be very useful in the SRB’s coordinated efforts to observe and survey activities on the surface.

At least, the more hands off ones.

Taking the file with him, he returned to his office and sat at his desk, taking another blessedly caffeinated drink before opening the file and beginning to peruse it. It was a report on the Nanite test they’d run on the Subject. The dispensation had gone off without any problems, including any detection of the Course they had dispatched for the task. Further, the monitoring connection that let him track her, and what the Nanites were needed to do, was up and running without trouble. Already they were retrieving invaluable data on what the foreign contaminants on the surface were attempting to do to her immune system.

The nanites, of course, recorded it all and rectified the problem.

Along with a lot of others things, apparently…

“Ah,” he blinked, grimacing silightly, “well, that is an unintended benefit.”

The nanites were over-active and didn’t police what they repaired as properly as they should. Resulting in a muscle and bone repair that made her healthier and stronger than she had been before the infection. Which meant that, if there weren’t any prohibitive side-effects, the nanite treatments would result in improved persons, rather than just restored persons.

It was a surprise, then, but not an unwelcome one.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Skull and Wolf arrived half-an hour after Uncle Leo left to get them for her, and her uniform, cleaned and pressed in a way it hadn’t been in some time. It even smiled pleasantly, a mix of clean soap and an odd, kind of cinnamon that she couldn’t place. She didn’t hesitate to get changed, the two Foremen turning their backs to her politely as she did.

“What is the scent?” She asked, tucking her armor into place and tugging the long overcoat on over it. “It smells nice.”

“The mushrooms we used to treat you.” Skull explained quietly, “We boil them, steep them for a week, and then grind them up with animal fat. The mixture congeals into lumps of soap that are useful for cleaning, and mostly non-toxic if accidentally consumed.”

“We use them for candles, too, sometimes.” Wolf added, asking, “Are you decent, General?”

“I am.” She nodded, the two Foremen turning around to face her as she smiled. “Cured my illness, fed me, housed me, you even did my laundry…”

“I cleaned your Ten Milimeter, too.” Wolf shrugged, adjusting the box under their arm and explaining when her brow rose in a clear question, “The barrel was a bit dirty, and the magazine casing was a bit loose. Easily repaired, and I told your man, Preston, before I did it. He went through your things, counted your ammunition. If you think I stole anything, feel free to see him.”

“It’s fine, I don’t think you’d steal ammo you don’t need.” She smiled, drawing the sidearm and inspecting it curiously. She couldn’t tell if he was right about the repairs, but the metal was cleaner at least. So she figured he’d done some work on it, and holstered it, “Thanks, Wolf. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Those of the time before stick together.” They answered, taking the box out from under their arm and setting it on the bed between them. Nodding towards it, they added, “A gift, from we, the Foremen. It will state our respect to you, when you meet our leadership.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, “I’m sure your support will mean a lot.”

“I hope so.” They nodded, gesturing at the box, “Please.”

Nodding, she opened the little metal thing. Inside, nestled amongst thin linen, sat a little silver mask. It was only front-faced, with a black sort of linen hood that would cover her head and run down her neck. And the design was simpler than the others, too. Instead of the well-made, ornate patterns of Wolf and Skull, hers was a simpler, Human visage, smiling thinly and with scholarly looking glasses stenciled into the metal. It looked passably like her, or at least as passably as a mask was likely to emulate, but her favorite part was the eyes. 

Instead of normal eye holes, they were made using black glass where the stenciled glasses would have had their lenses. The lenses were wide, too, like the wide rimmed librarian glasses that were so common back in her day.

“A Tinker dwelling here knows how to make glass, and treat it to protect against glare.” Wolf explained, “We had them install the lenses since we thought you would appreciate them.”

“The Mask design itself can be changed, too.” Skull added almost anxiously, “So we simply went with a Human face, smiling calmly. It seemed appropriate enough. If you want it changed later, though, we can-”

“No.” She grunted, giving the two Foremen a look and smiling. Lifting the light mask out of the box she set her hat aside and slipped the hood on, nestling the mask into place. Her voice surprisingly clear, she said, “I think it’s perfect.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

Misdirection :

It was fun to design, ye.

Blaze 1992 :

I mean, these aren’t the same drugged up raiders as canon. So it makes more sense.

Previlion :

Glad you’re enjoying it!


	22. Into the Fortress - Part I

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Everyone- 

I am being kicked out of my home by my room-mates and former co-workers, and leaving the Walkers as well. As such, the support offered may not actually get to me.

Supporters, please DM me for details on how to continue your pledge once I have left. I will do my best to DM you in return and keep you up to date.

May affect story length and update frequency.

I am sorry. This was completely unforeseen, and I apologize for the inconvenience.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Preston was waiting for her when she stepped out of the tower and into the brisk, early winter air. On seeing them step through the door, he pushed off the wall beside it and smiled widely, very clearly relieved to see her, “General! It’s good to see you on your feet.”

“It’s good to be on my feet.” She said, her voice just the tiniest bit muffled by the mask as she turned. As soon as he saw her face-mask his brows furrowed worriedly and she sighed, explaining quietly, “It’s a gift, from Wolf and the Foremen.”

“Those from before the War are respected among the Assembly.” Wolf explained quietly from behind her, “The mask denotes that she is from the war, and that she is to be respected as a result.”

“I always thought it was just a Ghoul thing…”

“It’s a Mutant thing as well, yes.” Skull answered from her other shoulder, “Everyone from before the War is also a Mutant of some kind, though.”

“And every Mutant wears a mask, too.” Wolf chipped in quietly, stepping up beside her and gesturing around them. “Slaves wear less ornate ones for obvious reasons, and Super Mutants don’t wear any at all because of a whole host of reasons I don’t feel pertinent here. Hers, though, is ornate and frilled by the black hood of the Foremen.”

“Which means…?”

“That I have their support, when negotiations start.” She said quietly, looking to Wolf for an unnecessary confirmation. They hummed as they gave it and she smiled behind her mask, turning back to Preston and frowning anxiously. After a moment to gather her courage she said, quietly, “And besides… We Mutants have to stick together, I guess.”

“You…” Preston blinked, brows furrowing in confusion. “Since when are you a Mutant, General?”

“I believe it’s due to her Radioactive Infection she endured for so long.” Skull stepped in to explain, seemingly feeling free to now that she had broached the topic personally. Gesturing at her still somewhat weak right arm, the Ghoul rasped, “It’s common enough, if these sorts of diseases are left alone long enough, for minor Mutations to result.”

“She’s no Ghoul.” Wolf added helpfully, “It’s a minor Mutation, not something so severe as to be worried about.”

“Wait, wait, no, I’m not-” Preston pointed a finger at the masked Ghoul, then grimaced and curled it into a fist. Taking a deep breath, Preston shook his head and explained, quickly, “Look, I wouldn’t care if she was turning into a Ghoul. I’m not worried about her mutating as long as it doesn’t hurt her, or anyone else. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“I’m fine, Preston.” She said, smiling behind her mask as some of the tension in her shoulders ebbed away. “I’m just… Just a lot stronger now.”

“Stronger how?”

“She threw a lead sling-ball the size of her head down to the foot of her bed.” Skull grunted shortly, “I trust you know how heavy those are.”

“Yeah, I do… Seen those rip through shield lines, once or twice.” The man nodded, giving her a once-over and grimacing ever so slightly. Shaking his head he chuckled and smiled, “Well, Nora, we’re… Going to have to get you on a regimen, then. See how strong you can really get, and help you get used to it.”

“That…” She laughed, nerves easing back now that she knew he wasn’t about to have an aneurysm over her new… Condition. One she was still trying very hard to get her head around herself. “That sounds like a plan, Preston. Skull, do you, um, have... Ideas about that?”

“We’ve dealt with mutations affecting speed, stamina, vision… I can organize a regimen to help you work it out.” Skull answered warily, looking between her and the technically younger man, “If you’re both… Alright with it, that is.”

“You’re asking me?” Preston chuckled awkwardly, “I don’t exactly think this is something I should get a say in deciding, General.”

“We are, and I think your opinion matters, Preston.” Nora answered quietly, stepping forward to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Because this is a whole handful of levels deeper than you and I agreed to work with the Assembly. And we’ve been going deeper and deeper every step for a while, now, too.”

“...We don’t have a choice, Nora.” He said after a long, quiet moment of thinking and staring up at the overcast, gloomy sky. “You need to get a handle on what’s happened to you. Skull may be an evil, raider bastard, no offence-”

“Mild offense taken.” The Ghoul grunted, “My parents were married.”

“-but he knows more about this kind of stuff than I do.” Preston sighed, wholly ignoring the Ghoul’s dry chuckle. Shrugging, he finished, “If he’s offerin’ some advice to help you get yourself sorted, I won’t say anything. And besides, we have a meeting to get to as it is, General. And I’m gettin’ just a little bit antsy over here waiting on it.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, smiling behind her mask and turning to Wolf, “Lead the way, if you please.”

“Of course.” They bowed, stepping by them both and chiming raspily, “General, Preston, if you would follow me.”

Falling in behind the masked Ghouls, the two uniformed Minutemen were led around the great entity that was the Factory Fortress itself, towering above them. In the back of the space enclosed by the outer wall was a great, recessed gate just under three times her height and wide enough for three of Uncle Leo to move through it abreast with elbow room besides. To either side of the great gate were squat, square structures built of the same brickwork that stood with the wide slits evenly spaced around the lower parts at about head height and the flat, plated metal roof at just over twice that. Between each ran a path, walked by numerous raiders with long spears coming and going through openings to either side of the gate, ten feet away.

And all she could see when she peered through the gaps were glinting bits of armor, lights that glared down on the holes, and feet.

Anyone that wanted to beach this second, inner gate, then, would have to march ten feet up a tight path with reinforced towers to either side no doubt brimming with spears to jab out, into their backs and flanks.

She… Didn’t envy anyone that tried.

“Make way!” Wolf called out as their group reached the gate and came to a stop, “The Foremen come with guests of a dignified, peaceful council!”

The two guards standing to either side, guarding the gate and the entrances to the outer bulwark alike, saluted at the words. In time, like it had been rehearsed just for her - and honestly, with as much time as they’d had, it might have been - the doors slid to the side, vanishing into the walls themselves to admit them through. Inside was a long corridor that stretched on for what very much looked like the entire length, front to back, of the Factory Fortress, with a curved ceiling twenty feet up, walls a few feet wider than the doorway, and bright fluorescents that lit the entirety. 

Stairs, paths and even ladders crisscrossed the entire corridor leading to landings and doors each guarded by a single well-armed raider. Overhead, on the dozen or so metal catwalks that crossed between twice as many entries, raiders, slaves, and people she presumed to be more even more well off civilians of the Assembly came and went. To where and from where, she had no idea.

But it was still all very impressive, to say the least.

And an absolute hell to be in, if you weren't wanted.

“No wonder he failed…” Preston’s words were almost lost amid the echoing footfalls and distant clanging of metalworking that had persisted since the great door granted them entry. She hummed and, when that failed, bumped an arm into him and he blinked confusedly. “General?”

“No wonder who failed?” She asked quietly, “And at what?”

“Uh, well…”

“He speaks in reference to General Whitley, I presume.” Wolf answered for him peering over a shoulder and waiting until, hesitantly, the man nodded. 

“Yeah.” Preston sighed, explaining for her and, it seemed, the listening Raider. “He, uh… He led a few regiments of Minutemen against the Assembly in a war. Records said he breached the outer wall, and the gate back there, but he vanished after that.”

“He breached nothing.” Wolf explained shortly, moving on when Preston’s brows furrowed and his lips thinned, “We allowed a wall that was to be replaced anyway to be laddered and then collapsed it, killing many of their number. The rest pursued our ‘fleeing’ troops through an open gate, and were cut down in a waiting ambush.”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to believe you.” 

“Do as you like.” The Raider answered simply, “I am certainly not concerned over what you do or don’t believe.”

“Son of a…” Preston cut himself off with a low growl, fingers twitching anxiously at his sides like he wanted to do something. Eventually, though, he relaxed and asked, “Don’t suppose you have any actual proof o’ that?”

“I do not.” They answered, “I also don’t have a reason to lie.”

“I can think of a few…”

“Such as?”

“Well-”

“Both of you, that’s enough picking fights and dick measuring.” Technically, she didn’t have any right to snap back on the masked Raider. But their arguing wouldn’t go anywhere good, and it was better to gamble on overstepping her bounds than them continuing their back and forth. Before either could say anything, she added, “We’ve got too much riding on this to squabble over decades old history. If it's that important to either of you then we can hash it out later. Clear?”

“As crystal, General.” 

“Sure.” Preston sighed, shrugging and adding, when the Raider turned around, “Not like it matters anyhow. Doesn’t much matter how the good guys go down if they go down.”

She waited anxiously for either of the Raiders to say something, anything, to that. But either because they were listening to her or furthering their own ends, neither said a word. After a second, the Minute Man sighed and let the matter go entirely, just in time for them to reach their missing third, leaning against the wall beside his armor.

And another ornate door, made of solid metal and emblazoned with the iconography of the Assembly.

“General.” He grunted, pushing off the wall and unfolding his arms as they reached him. “A pleasure to see you so well. I was worried.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, “The, uh, treatment purged me of the infection just like they said.”

“Good news.” The man smiled warmly, eyeing the two Raiders at her side for only a single short, distrustful moment before he looked back to her, “Any complications they couldn’t handle? When the Brotherhood arrives I can request some-”

“No, none.” Or at least, none she wanted the very anti-Mutant Brotherhood Paladin to know about. Smiling confidently, she rolled her shoulder and made a show of spinning her arm, “Good as new, for the most part. Still a little sore, but…”

“Better than dying.” Danse surmised accurately, adding a parting, joking, “Or mutating. I know such infections can do that. You’re sure you don’t want me to arrange any-”

“N-No, I’m fine, Paladin Danse.” She rushed to cut him off, earning raised brows from the large man. Seeing his confusion, and the hard, tiny edge of suspicion behind it, she rushed to a change of topic, “And besides, we have more important matters to attend to.”

“The General is right.” Wolf grunted, stepping between them and paying each of them a short look. To the Paladin, he went on gravely, “The Assembly’s leadership has assembled in its entirety. Much work goes undone, waiting on this meeting’s ending so that we can begin whatever comes next for our two peoples.”

“Trade takes arrangements, work, planning...” She added helpfully, paying Danse a look and then Preston as well, if only for plausible deniability on whether she was talking to both of them or not. She couldn’t afford the larger Paladin feeling put out, after all. After a moment, she nodded and added, “So, let’s get it done, yeah?”

“Aye, General.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She nodded and Wolf turned, barking out an order that had the great gate groaning and rolling to the side, once more vanishing into the walls to either side of the door. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her hat and mask and then her coat. And, finally, took a step through the great door.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Really short chapter but it covers the first segment I wanted. Intended as of last chapter to do a double-whammy, give or take, on this. Then the events mentioned in the AN header happened.

Again, sorry, just… This is all I got in me atm.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Dark Paladin 89 :

Yeah, ick indeed. But something I thought was as realistic and reasonable as the giant green man treating her. XD

Hope you enjoyed!

Blaze 1992 :

Not quite what I imagined but honestly, if you wanna imagine a Guy Fawkes mask, I will not try and change your mind.


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